


I've Forgotten the Chemistry of Your Company

by ryoku



Category: Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Birdnapping, Claustrophobia, Disassociation, Flashbacks, Flashbacks of Torture and Forced Captivity, Gen, Mismanagement of Information, Seizure, Severe PTSD, The Bats general lack of healthy communication skills, Triggers, Trust Issues, Violence, anger issues, fear toxin, self-deprecating thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13102425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoku/pseuds/ryoku
Summary: As far as Jason knew, Grayson hadn't ventured out of Bludhaven since Bruce's disappearing act six months ago, but if Nightwing's mess kept getting in the Red Hood's way, he was damn well going to deal with it himself. The trick was avoiding getting dragged into Nightwing's gravity. Dick has always had a way of making all of Jason's old wounds new again, and as Jason figures out, Dick is hardly in ideal form either.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iinkyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iinkyl/gifts).



> I have updated the tags, please make sure that you check them! I don't think anything is too horrible in this one, but there is a lot.
> 
> Thank you to Iinkyl, for giving me a prompt that was really open ended, so that I could just take it wherever I wanted it to go. As always, thanks go to PoisnousPixie, for once again reassuring me that this was not a horrible life choice. Also thank you so much to pentapus, for amazing beta work, and really helping this piece become much more coherent. 
> 
> Please keep in mind that this fic is compliant with the Arkham games canon. Or as best as I could get it. 
> 
> To those of you that have read the first part previously, it has been revised for both flow, syntax, and general coherency. There have also been some slight additions. I'd be happy if you re read the first chapter, since I think it's better, but of course you don't have to.

It started with Two-Face, smuggling arms into Gotham via Bludhaven. 

There were signs of trouble before that, little things that added up if he was looking. But Jason wasn't looking. Gotham was a handful all on it's own.

So when Jason learned about a shipment of arms coming into Gotham from Bludhaven undeterred, he didn't think much of popping over to solve the problem himself. Sure, Bludhaven was Nightwing's city, but that'd never kept him out before. Jason had gotten damn good at sneaking around bats. If he could evade Batman and Oracle, then Nightwing was a walk in the park. 

As far as he knew, ever since Bruce's disappearing act six months ago Grayson hadn't ventured out of Bludhaven, but if Nightwing's mess kept getting in the Red Hood's way, he was damn well going to deal with it himself. 

That put him in Bludhaven, eliminating Two-Face's goons and dealing with the cargo. It was standard arms, heavy artillery and automatic weapons that he didn't need on Gotham's streets. All typical contraband, except for what they were leaving behind. That search produced a small lock box of six little vials of familiar amber liquid. 

Fear toxin, going right into Bludhaven. Great. 

Jason's first instinct was to just ignore it. The fear toxin was going into Bludhaven. Technically, it wasn't even his problem. Let golden boy deal with it. 

For better or worse that's what he did. Nightwing had never done him any favors, Jason didn't even know if Grayson knew he was alive. The guy had certainly never come to 'reconnect' like Barb had, like Robin sometimes tried.

At the very least, Jason tried. For three days, he struggled to convince himself he didn't care if Nightwing found out about the fear toxin in Bludhaven the hard way. He followed up on his end, did a little digging about where the toxin was coming from, around the actual cases he was doing, but nothing stuck, including his argument. 

The fourth evening found him in Bludhaven, grudgingly accepting that he should have just given Grayson a heads up that first night. The sad part, was that it wouldn't have been weird if Jason had stopped in that first night. It would have made sense. Four days later, it was weird. It took him four days of ruminating on it to decide he gave a shit? What bullshit nonsense. He could've asked Barbara to do it, but he still struggled asking anything of her, no matter how small. Asking still felt alien, wrong, like a weakness he couldn't afford. 

Before his moderately heroic choice toward sanity and forgiveness, Jason hadn't given two shits about Nightwing. He'd wanted Batman choking on his own blood, to beat Robin senseless, but Nightwing had always been a stepping stone, just one of many expected casualties to achieving his goal. 

With that in mind, the growing need to run, and run fast, didn't make any sense. There were memories of a different life floating in his head, warnings of the emotional hurricanes Dick Grayson had always instilled in him. Once, those memories had been of comfort, home and the understanding that he was allowed to have his temper, and Dick would still throw him a silly birthday party, that Batman and Nightwing cared about keeping Robin, Jason, safe and prepared for whatever he'd encounter on Gotham's streets. 

Now, Jason didn't know what any of it meant, but he knew this had the potential to ruin everything he'd tried to build. His faith in Batman had cost him dearly, and Nightwing was cut from the same cloth. 

The whole idea was stupid. Yet there he was, staking out Grayson's Bludhaven apartment instead of chasing down drug runners in Gotham. Jason remembered wondering when Bruce was going to respect him enough to let him be a real partner, a hero in his own right like Nightwing was. It wasn't fair to envy Dick's competency, but that'd never really stopped him before, and sitting there ruminating on it while he waited for Nightwing to come back to his apartment didn't help.

By the time Nightwing finally showed, it was just before sunrise. Jason never should have waited so long, but he only realized he'd been treating it like a stakeout when Nightwing entered his own window with the finesse of an alcoholic. He hadn't even noticed the Red Hood, and Jason hadn't gone out of his way to hide. Nightwing should have noticed him. 

A normal person would have been concerned, but Jason wasn't. He caught himself contemplating what that meant, that he'd waited for Nightwing like the Arkham Knight would, not because it made sense, but because it had been the default reaction. He should have just broken in and left a note, but that was also a typical super villain thing to do. Alfred might have said it was the intent that counted, but Alfred was gone, and Jason didn't dare tread down that path. 

So Jason did one more stupid thing to put on top of the pile of stupid he'd been doing all night. He climbed into Dick Grayson's apartment window, and took off the hood. 

He immediately regretted it. The place was a mess, with things just haphazardly tossed wherever. It would have been any sane person's nightmare. With a well practiced ease he fished out his lighter and lit a cigarette. He took a deep breath in, smelling the tobacco over everything else. If Grayson was in his right mind, he'd probably already be pissy about the cigarette, but Jason didn't care. Let him bitch. Jason left the window open, and the breeze on his face was nice. He'd been wearing the hood all night, and a little fresh air was a good change from the filtered stuff.

The state of the apartment was telling. Nightwing hadn't been a serious issue on the Arkham Knight's to do list, but he'd been one of the easiest to deal with. Grayson usually took on more than he could handle, a trait that Batman had tried to curb back when they'd worked together. On his own, Nightwing went all at things without anyone to keep him in check, and that made him the easiest to tail track. 

The favorite son was easy to plan for. All the Arkham Knight ever had to do was stir up a little extra trouble, and then check in to see the state of Nightwing's apartment. If it looked like this, he probably wouldn't have had to worry about Nightwing meddling for at least a couple days. If the apartment had been somewhat orderly, he'd be more likely to take batcalls. 

Then of course Barbara had been kidnapped, and Grayson had defied his parameters and came running to Gotham to help.

It was possible that the Arkham Knight hadn't given Grayson enough credit, but that was done and over with. Grayson's involvement hadn't mattered anyway. Now that they weren't enemies, the mess probably just meant more work on his part. 

Might as well get it over with. 

The bedroom door was closed, so it was a pretty safe bet that's where Grayson was. Jason figured he could afford to be a little bit more patient, but when Grayson didn't emerge from the bedroom after a couple minutes, that went out the window. 

He would have to drive back to Gotham after this, had wasted his whole night because Nightwing couldn't keep Bludhaven's problems from spilling into Gotham, Grayson didn't even have the decency to come out and face him, and Jason was so goddamned tired. It was enough to piss him off on a good day, which it wasn't. 

Just to be obnoxious, he started trampling over stuff, letting his heavy boots thump around and going out of his way to make noise. Still, Grayson didn't emerge. Irritated with this whole situation, Jason gave up being subtle, and stomped over to bang on the bedroom door. 

Jason didn't expect for the door to fly open, and to be punched in the face. 

The cigarette flew from his mouth. He should have expected something, because that was just the crowning achievement on his night of stupid decisions, but still. Jason hadn't even heard Dick move behind the door, hadn't seen it coming, because Dick fucking Grayson was too fast for his own good, but there it was, a solid fist slamming right into his cheek. The world blanked for a second, and he was somewhere else, the smells of rot and filth all around him, fingers and rotten food being shoved in his face. 

Jason roared in anger and frustration, dragging himself back to the present. He was on top of Grayson before he even knew what he was doing, slamming fists down as they both thrashed, then his fingers were around Grayson's neck, trying to choke him out. 

Grayson's blue eyes were dark, dilated and dazed, but he snarled with the intensity of a lion and slipped out of Jason's hands like water. He was only in boxers, and his skin was slick with sweat, which made it harder to get a good hold on him. 

“Get out!” Grayson snarled, before slamming Jason backwards. He lost his balance, and his back hit the floor hard, with something on the floor digging into his flesh. Pain flared in his back, sharp and demanding, pulling him out of the fight entirely for almost 3 seconds, before he could grit through the pain of it and focus on his surroundings again. Dick had straddled him by that point, his fist pulled back to swing, his whole upper body twisted with the motion so Dick could use all of his force in the blow.

The position was jarring, so reminiscent to others that he'd been in, that Jason froze. The pain in his back was still there, raw and angry, making it harder to breathe, let alone react. The only move he could make was to try and pull his hands up to defend himself, but it was a useless gesture, too slow and stilted to do any good. With that windup, Dick was going to tear through any feeble defense Jason could manage. He couldn't blink, couldn't look away from the looming figure on top of him, as his hands shook, so he saw when Dick's face shifted. His eyes went from frenzied rage, to blown disbelief in an instant. The horror on his face was as clear as day. 

Dick was off of him in a flash, backing up and shaking his head in disbelief. His lips were fumbling around mumbled words that Jason couldn't make out. Then Dick turned his back, and stumbled towards the kitchen. 

Jason couldn't stay on that carpet, amid dirty clothes that smelled like sweat and fear, but moving more than a stilted roll to at least get the pressure off of his back was a challenge. Slowly, Jason managed to push himself into a sitting position. His goddamn arms were shaking, and his breath was a study in irregularity. Jason had to fight every instinct to just run, could feel himself slipping into someplace dark and damp as the walls closed in on him. 

A breeze played on his face, and that dragged him back to the present. Jason didn't know how he'd gotten to the window, but there he was, one foot already on the sill, ready to run. His eyes slipped shut, and he agonized over opening them again, but there was cool air on his face. 

He wasn't trapped. 

When Jason opened his eyes, he was ready to try again. He damn well wasn't going to let Dick Grayson chase him off.

Jason turned his back on the window and lit another cigarette to chase away the smell of Grayson's apartment. It wasn't that bad, he reminded himself, just dirty clothes, empty takeaway containers and dust bunnies. Nothing he couldn't handle. He'd dealt with worse. 

His arms and back were starting to fall into numbness, which wasn't a good sign, but it was still manageable. Jason didn't think it'd get worse, so that was something, he guessed. It probably wouldn't hamper movement too much unless it got hit again. He'd make sure Grayson didn't get the chance. 

Angry at everything, Jason walked into the kitchen. The dishes stacked in the sink were horrendous, and Jason was glad he had the cigarette in his mouth to focus on.

Grayson had his back turned to the entryway, one arm braced against the counter and the other holding a glass of water he was downing as fast as possible. When Jason walked in, Grayson turned to look at him over his shoulder. He blinked owlishly, turned back towards the sink, filled the glass again, and upended the cup on himself. Jason had a brief urge to chastise him for ever drinking Bludhaven tap water, but fought it down. Dick shook out his hair, and turned fully around to looked back at Jason, obviously expecting something to have changed. By the way he kept blinking, nothing had. 

“Jason?” Dick asked, his voice barely a whisper. 

Jason just sneered, whatever patience he'd been harboring was long gone by now. “This place is a mess. Do you ever clean?” 

Dick had the audacity to laugh, and Jason resisted the urge to punch him again. “Either this is the weirdest batch of fear toxin, or you're actually standing in my kitchen.” Dick sounded on the brink of hysterics, his voice high and jagged. 

Jason walked over, and decked him in the face. That way they'd have matching bruises, he thought. Dick fell like a sack of bricks. He should have been able to dodge that, or at least recover from it quickly, but Dick just blinked up at him.

“I'm real, Dickface,” Jason said. 

Dick kept looking up at him, eyes blown. “You shouldn't be here,” Dick muttered to himself. “I'm not afraid of you, you shouldn't be here.” He kept looking at Jason as if he couldn't work out what was going on, until his eyes settled on Jason's face. 

“No,” Dick said, his voice breaking as he shook his head. “I wouldn't, I didn't mean to, I- Jay, I'm so sorry. I-” There was desperate terror in Dick's eyes, like Jason had never seen. “Say something, please, Jason.” Dick reached out, as if he needed to prove Jason wasn't an illusion, but Jason took a step back on instinct alone.

Dick reacted like he'd been shot. He curled in on himself and his hands went to his head, tangling and pulling on his own hair. He wheezed once, like a dying animal. “Why!?” Dick roared, desperation giving way to anger. “I'm trapped here, like you wanted! Can't you just leave me alone?” 

Jason had seen enough of this. While Dick was preoccupied screaming at phantoms and ghosts, Jason cautiously knelt beside him. When he reached out, Dick looked up. This close, Jason could see just how blue Dick's eyes were, and the angry red veins all around them. Jason touched his shoulder. For just an instant, Dick calmed, and leaned into the touch like a starved man. 

Jason took his chance, and wrapped his arms around Dick's neck. 

In absolute panic, Dick started thrashing, spitting and cursing for all he was worth, but Jason held on. 

He felt the familiar motion, the struggle that came with it, as Dick tried to buck him off, slamming him into the various fixtures in the kitchen. Jason thought about how in this position, it would almost be easy to just break Grayson's neck. Well, maybe not that easy, cause Dick was giving him a damn hard time of it, but Jason was bigger and stronger. The thought made him nauseous, and he was thankful he hadn't eaten. 

Choking someone out was such a pain in the ass, and it was even harder when the person knew what they were doing. There was a big difference between doing this to some two bit bozo vs Nightwing. 

Dick broke out of his hold, swinging and kicking as he did it, but he was obviously exhausted, delirious, and easy to dodge. 

“Why!?” Dick demanded, as he landed a glancing hit on Jason's side, trying to bring the fight to Jason, and failing. Just as quickly, Dick was again preoccupied with ghosts that weren't there. His eyes were blown again, as he fixated on something that wasn't there. 

“You shouldn't be here,” Dick said again, as he extended a hand out. It struck Jason, that Dick was trying to defend him from some invisible enemy, and that in his haste to do so, he'd completely turned his back on Jason, in favor of some monster that wasn't there. If it wasn't so fucking sad, it would have been laughable how easy it was for Jason to reach over and wrestle him down for good. For the third time that night, Jason cut off Dick's airway, but this time he held it. 

Jason pulled his hands away the second he was sure Dick was out. He could still feel him thrashing, muscles twitching under his skin, the scent and feel of sweat clinging to his gloves and gathering under his fingernails. He tried not to think about the name Dick had whimpered before going under, how he'd kept reaching for someone that wasn't there, and the gasping, guttural sounds he'd made before going limp in Jason's arms. Jason felt the lingering pressure of bony fingers wrapped around his neck, and jumped off of Dick as if he was on fire. 

There was going to be a nasty ring of bruises around Dick's neck for a while, but it was so much easier to deal with people this way. If the fear toxin hadn't already caused a massive heart attack, then he'd probably be fine. Hopefully he'd sleep it off, and be more manageable in the morning. 

He left Grayson sprawled on the kitchen floor, and wrote out a quick note. The aching need for another cigarette hit him, but Jason slipped on the hood instead. He taped the note to Grayson's forehead, and then immediately slipped off his gloves, and washed his hands in the bathroom. With the hood on, he couldn't smell the sweat on them, but he knew it was there, and he needed it off. The gloves he'd have to deal with later. 

On his way out he nicked a pair of escrima sticks, because he could. Dick shouldn't have been leaving that shit lying around anyway. Bruce had taught him better than that. 

Jason closed the window on his way out. 

God, he wished he'd just called Barbara. 

\- 

Nightwing showed up in Gotham the next night. Jason couldn't say he was surprised, but he'd been hoping he wouldn't. Since their last meeting had gone so well. At least Nightwing didn't smell like the sweat Jason had scrubbed out of his gloves, or the shithole he called an apartment. 

Jason was expecting the talk. The 'don't kill' talk to be exact, but he knew that would come after the pointless, cheeky banter portion of their evening, and he just wasn't feeling it. Between the encounter last night, and the nightmare that had inspired, where he'd snapped Dick's neck, all he could manage was irritable. 

Four months ago, he would have done the sane thing, and just stayed away, but Barb and Tim had lulled him into a small sense of security. Of which Dick had already mangled the night before. He didn't want to do this. In fact, he'd rather just sleep for a month, and wake up to find it old, irrelevant news. 

“I left what info I had.” Jason said in lieu of a greeting, making sure Dick couldn't get a look at his face. Dick would probably be able to see how disturbed the last night had left him if he got a good look, and there wasn't a chance in hell Jason would let that happen. He was hoping to cut this whole conversation off at the pass, and get out of dodge as soon as possible. He had a pretty good guess that he was going to get dragged along for the ride, but if he could find an easy out, he wanted to take it. Jason took one last drag on his cigarette, before tossing it aside and putting on the hood.

“I'm doing better, thanks for asking.” Nightwing said. He didn't look it. If Jason was being honest, he looked worse, like he'd woken up on the kitchen floor. The suit hid a lot, tried to make him look invincible, but it couldn't hide everything. “I think someone in Gotham is supplying fear toxin.” Right to business. Guess they were skipping the banter after all.

Jason shrugged one shoulder. If Dick wanted to ignore how horrible he looked, who was Jason to deter him. “Gee, detective, sounds like you've got this.”

Dick didn't even bat an eye. “Scarecrow still locked up?” 

“And still whimpering like a kicked dog,” Jason confirmed, waving his hand dismissively. It was a stupid question, Jason had no doubt that Dick checked the Gotham news and police lines religiously. He would've known if Scarecrow was out. Nightwing may not have kept track of Gotham before, but now that Robin flew solo, Jason was sure he kept a much closer eye. It was no secret that Bruce had kept Tim on a tight leash, and no matter how capable a person was, there was no substitute for real experience. It was possible Jason was giving Dick too much credit, but he doubted it. Jason hadn't heard a peep from him since donning the hood, but that didn't mean much.

Jason had stopped by the GCPD to check on Crane the same night that he'd found the initial shipment. He thought that Robin would have already administered the anti-toxin to Scarecrow, but that didn't seem to be the case. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. There was a strange indifference in seeing Crane a whimpering mess, a detachment that had become something of a norm as the days turned into weeks and then months. 

Crane deserved worse. So did the Arkham Knight.

Jason didn't linger on that. It was a dangerous line of thinking to ruminate on, and never did any good.

He narrowed his eyes at Nightwing instead, looking him over critically. He still looked like shit, but waking up on the kitchen floor did that to a person. If the toxin was still in effect on Scarecrow after months, where did that leave Dick? It was a thought that hadn't occurred to him until that moment. 

Most of the people in Crane's tests had died early on, but Batman had lasted, and functioned for most of Halloween night under the stuff. In comparison, Crane was still a whimpering vegetable six months later, and Stagg had made a full recovery. Jason had a growing suspicion that there was much more to all this, but he filed it away for later. 

“Think someone's reverse engineering it?” Nightwing asked, sounding uncertain. 

“How did they get it, is the real question.” Jason said, giving no indication that he'd been studying Nightwing. It was one of the hoods many perks.

Nightwing shifted, it was a subtle move, but Jason noticed it. Was Nightwing favoring one leg over the other? Jason hadn't noticed any injuries yesterday, but he'd been understandably distracted. It hadn't exactly been a good meeting. 

“Stealing from police evidence probably,” Nightwing said. “It's no secret GCPD has lowered their standards.” Dick didn't say 'after the incident' but it was implied. Jason hated him for not having the balls to just come out and say it.

“Sounds like you've got it under control.” Jason said, knowing it was more wishful thinking then anything. He started to walk to the edge of the roof, when Dick reached out for his shoulder. Jason smacked his hand away before he could make contact. “Don't touch me.” 

Nightwing pulled his hand back, and looked Jason dead in the eye. He was glad that Dick couldn't actually see his face, but it still made him nervous that he could guess so well.

“I'm sorry.” Nightwing hesitated. “I watched my security footage. I'm sorry, I would never-” 

“Fear toxin. I figured it out, Wingding.” Jason said, tapping his hood twice for emphasis, before letting his hand fall back to his side. “Don't lose any beauty sleep over it.” He should have left, done a disappearing act like the bat would, but he'd never been good at just walking way. Jason either ran like a coward or fought for his life. Any normal in between always felt impossible. 

No matter how much he wanted to just cut and run, the fear toxin was an issue, and Jason knew it would bite him in the ass if he didn't deal with it now. What came out of his mouth was a mistake, but he did it anyway, knowing what he was signing himself up for by asking. 

“Worked it out of your system?” Jason asked. The worst part was he already knew the answer. He knew fear toxin when he saw it. 

Nightwing cocked his head to the side, before straightening out, and letting his shoulders sway a bit. “It's a work in progress.” 

“Anti-toxin not viable?” 

A working anti-toxin had been one of the first things Robin had set his sights on after Halloween. It'd taken some time, but once it was done, Robin had made sure that they all had plenty to keep on hand. He'd even tracked Jason down to give it to him. Nightwing should have had some. 

Nightwing shrugged, as if he didn't actually know if it was working or not. His eyes wandered for a few moments before focusing back on Jason. 

“New strand, different enough that it doesn't have much effect. Robin's working on it.” Of course. Robin would be the first one Nightwing went to, but Robin hadn't been punched in the face and dealt with Dick's break down. It was a completely irrational thought, especially since he wanted Nightwing to scram, but Jason found himself bitter that Dick hadn't come to him first.

If Jason had just called Barb, it might have been Tim that walked into Dick's apartment the other night. For what it was worth, Jason was actually glad he hadn't called. Tim would have had a hard time subduing Nightwing, and Dick wouldn't have forgiven himself if he'd hurt Tim. Besides, taking one for the team made Jason feel a little less guilty about what he'd done. Someone would have had to do it, and it was better that it had been him. 

“I'm handling it,” Nightwing said, and Jason was thankful that the hood hid the annoyance on his face. Grayson was scary good at reading this things, and Jason hated how much he broadcasted.

The thought of Dick attacking a well meaning Tim coming to check on him, brought into context the actual situation they were in. There would be a fear toxin drugged Nightwing swinging across rooftops until Robin came up with an anti-toxin that worked, and if he hadn't recognized Jason when he walked in the night before, then they had a serious problem on their hands. Sure, Nightwing wasn't going to be killing anyone, but the damage he was capable of was staggering to consider.

Batman had mostly functioned under the fear gas, but that had been with almost all of the civilians out of the city, and even then, Jason remembered watching him struggle and suffer. He'd kept going anyway. Jason had no idea where Nightwing would fall on that scale, but Jason wasn't in the habit of taking chances. 

Nightwing could be a danger to the whole city if left on his own. The best thing Jason could do, was either knock pretty boy out again and solve the case himself, or play babysitter. He wondered if Robin still had those cells under the theater up and running. Knowing his luck, probably not.

There was no way that Dick would consider standing down either, so it was a waste to even suggest it. Alfred might have been able to talk him into it, or Bruce could have ordered him to, but no one else was going to convince Nightwing of a damned thing. He was as stubborn as they came. 

Besides, if he said anything Nightwing would probably get that stupid look on his face, and say something obnoxious about feelings. What a pain in the ass. 

“Let's go chat with the GCPD,” Jason offered, resigned to his fate. 

\- 

More accurately, Cash was happy to chat with Nightwing. Red Hood was still a variable the GCPD didn't know how to deal with. They weren't sure that he'd put down Black Mask's operation, but they had their suspicions. Jason wasn't stupid enough to just pop in unannounced. 

Nightwing, on the other hand was probably given a warm welcome when he walked in the front door. Batman had rarely walked into the GCPD unless he had someone to lock up, but Nightwing could saunter in without a second thought. People liked him, always had. With Batman out of the picture, and Robin keeping to the shadows, Nightwing was the most prominent face of bat operations. 

While Nightwing did that, Jason waited on the rooftop of the GCPD, looking at the old busted bat signal. The damn thing probably still worked, just like every other piece of Bat-tech. Jason wouldn't be surprised if it outlasted an apocalypse, or several attempted takeovers involving tanks. At the very least it would never shine a bat up into Gotham's night sky again, so he supposed there was that at least. 

Who knew getting what you wanted tasted like formaldehyde and gasoline. 

Nightwing came back after twenty minutes. Batman would have done it in five, but Nightwing had always been chatty. Even Bruce had found it endearing, but he'd been irritated when Jason talked too much. 

Nightwing's popularity was probably why people kept dropping hints that he should come back to Gotham. Jason had read some articles, heard a few conversations, and seen a lot of posts with #bringthenighthome. In comparison, opinion was conflicted about the Red Hood. He was still smoke and mirrors.

Back when the Arkham Knight had been planning to get rid of Batman, he'd pegged Grayson to come running back as soon as the Bat had been dealt with. In truth, he'd anticipated it, because the Arkham Knight had wanted to be long gone by the time Nightwing showed up. 

Even though he'd wanted Bruce dead, when it came to Drake and Grayson things had been less clear. Sure, he'd wanted to hurt them, maybe permanently, but killing them hadn't been part of the plan. It hadn't been realistic. The Arkham Knight had known that when he succeed, it would've ended with a bullet in pretty boy's head. Dick would've chased him to the ends of the earth if that's what it had taken, Gotham and Bludhaven be damned. That sort of dedication was something he had admired as Robin. After being abandoned, even thinking about it left him torn in a million directions.

Now, six months after Batman's supposed death, Grayson was still in Bludhaven, decidedly quiet about a possible relocation, and hadn't come to chase him down at the first opportunity. It was just one more thing that didn't add up. 

Serious crime wasn't on the rise in Gotham, but petty crime was. Without a proper holding facility, the GCPD was more likely to just let petty criminals go then keep them, and with Robin being the only GCPD sanctioned hero swinging from the rooftops, it was a surprise that Nightwing wasn't around. Not that it mattered. It was better for the Red Hood anyway. The less variables in the city, the better.

Jason gave him a good once over as Nightwing zip-lined up to the roof. Had he looked that pale before going in? Jason couldn't tell. 

“Two-Face-” Nightwing stopped, and his eyes wandered. He paused, swallowed, and then continued. “-doesn't know anything.” Nightwing shifted. He really was favoring one leg over the other. Jason added that to the list of things he'd have to juggle for the night. 

Jason was glad the hood hid everything. With it on, it was less obvious that he was eyeing Nightwing. The suit and cowl hid a lot, but Nightwing still looked like he'd been hanging desperately from a ledge for an hour, waiting for someone that hadn't come. 

“Doesn't know anything, or isn't talking?” Jason asked, and couldn't keep the bite out of his tone. 

Nightwing focused on something behind Jason's shoulder, a completely different direction from where he'd been looking before. Jason turned to see if anything was really there, but there was nothing. When he focused back on Nightwing, his blue eyes were on Jason again. 

“Doesn't know.” Nightwing paused, “I think.” Oh great, Jason had made the right choice to be the designated chaperon for the evening. As if he didn't have better things to do with his time.

“He was running the goods.” Jason said, irritated already.

“I know, but it's- it's not only him. You caught Two-Face, but I caught Penguin. Same thing. Doesn't know.” 

Jason huffed in disgust. “And you believe them why?”

Nightwing fidgeted, before raising one shoulder. “They don't have any use for it, and the shipments were too small to really be worth the effort. Doesn't make sense for them to be making it.” 

“They aren't smart enough either.” Jason added, but he wasn't sure he agreed. Two-Face didn't have to be making fear toxin to profit off of it. If he'd been the one doing the interrogating, he would have gotten answers. 

What had he been thinking, sending a drugged Nightwing into the GCPD? He seemed functional now, but he'd been raving the night before, and was too damn stubborn to just sit this out until Robin got an anti-toxin.

“Sounds like you were real productive in there.” Jason said instead. “Great use of our time.” He wanted a smoke. “What about the fear toxin?” 

Nightwing blinked, his eyes confused and scattered, before they widened. He swallowed, and fidgeted again. “I- no. Cash said it's all accounted for?” It came out as more of a question, far too wishy washy to be a statement. He was shifting again, favoring the one leg, and he looked visibly distressed. 

Jason was not amused. He could already feel the heat starting to radiate out of his cheeks, how it was billowing inside of him, slowly stoking itself into something dangerous. “Are you telling me you just asked nicely, and didn't follow up?” 

“I- Well-” He was fidgeting. So help him, Nightwing kept fidgeting. He didn't have the patience for this.

“This was your lead. Go the hell back, and check the evidence. I want you to actually sit there and count the bottles if you have to!” Jason grit out, beyond annoyed at the whole situation. That was the actual reason Nightwing went in to begin with, not to interrogate Penguin and Two-Face. “I don't have time for this, and you know better.” 

“Oracle can check the GCPD reports-” Nightwing started.

“We're right here!” Jason almost yelled, before taking a deep breath, and evening out his stance. Jason took a few more measured breaths, trying to cool down the almost searing heat in his head. He pointed downwards with one finger. “Go back, and make Cash show you. If any of the fear toxin is missing, that's a solid lead we can work with. Just because you're drugged to the gills isn't an excuse to be sloppy. If you can't even do that, you shouldn't be out at all.” 

“Hood- I've got a few more ideas.” Nightwing said, in some strange cross between hopeful and nervous. It probably would've sounded confident to anyone who didn't know him, but Jason did. 

Oh wonderful. He was going to spend all night following Grayson's hunches, and pussy footing around him while he fucked shit up. Choking him out again was starting to feel like a viable option. Jason wondered if it'd hurt, if the bruises ringed around Dick's neck were brilliant blacks and purples, what color they'd be after a second round. Jason shoved that thought down as far as it would go. 

He didn't have all night for this, and what if they got nowhere? Was Grayson just going to come back the next day, or would he terrorize Bludhaven with his hallucinations?

“Great. Let's put a pin in that.” He didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Whatever calming measures Jason could have tried were probably going to be ineffective at that point anyway. Why even bother? “How about you go on home to Haven, and leave Gotham to me. Better yet, why don't you go visit the replacement bird, and let him deal with you.” 

Whatever hesitation had been in Nightwing's stance evaporated. Unsurprisingly, a fight usually put them on stronger footing.

“Gee, where have I heard that before?” Nightwing extended his hands in a dramatic gesture, and rolled his whole head instead of just his eyes. “What an upset, you don't want me in Gotham either.” 

Jason shifted. “You aren't my problem in Bludhaven.” God he wished that was actually the case.

Dick almost looked hurt for a third of a second, then that stupid fake smile was back, but this one wasn't even an attempt at being nice. “Didn't stop you from dropping in.” He said, stretching his neck from side to side, like it still hurt, like something had been torn, or the bruises were giving him trouble. 

Jason sneered, and wished the mask would show the matching bruise on his cheek, where Dick had hit him first. “Which was such a great idea.” 

Whatever forced cheer or humor that was on Nightwing's face was gone now. His eyes wandered again, before he set his lips in a straight line. “I am not letting _you_ chase me away.” He said, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Jason snorted. “Oh really? And here I thought you'd made it pretty clear that Gotham wasn't your problem.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Nightwing grit out, head held high and shoulders back. 

The rueful laugh that came out of Jason's throat sounded dry and bitter. “Why'd you listen the one time he told you to run like a coward?” 

Jason could see the words hit home, but Nightwing was good at keeping his features in check when he needed to. There was just one raw flash of pain, before Nightwing managed to hide it. 

“Are you actually blaming me?” His face had been a patchwork of emotions, all vying for dominance, but it smoothed into something blank. The cowl hid a lot, but Jason had been Robin too, and he knew how to hide behind the mask. He'd been in enough fights with Dick when they were younger to know that the whole facade would break with one more calculated hit. The urge to break something, to main, to hurt and hurt badly, was insatiable. What the hell was Jason doing playing at normal, pretending to be something he wasn't?

Jason extended his arms to either side, and held up his shoulders in a 'what are you going to do' gesture. “It's not like you could have done anything, right?” He took a step forward, closing distance between them. He stopped just in front of Nightwing, and made a point of looking down at him, before cocking his head to the side. “You were always a cut and run kinda guy.” He didn't touch, didn't dare, but he was close enough too. Close enough to get in Nightwing's space and claim it for his own, turn it against him. He leaned down, in a way that he never would've been able to without the hood between them. “Can't make anything stick, can you?” 

He saw Dick's neck tense, air rushing in and out of it, and knew what was coming. Batman's hand slapping the gun away, the headbutt slamming into the mask, the sound of delicate circuitry breaking, cause there was nothing as hard as Bruce's fucking head, and nothing as cold as his eyes. Jason took a step back, tense and ready for a hit, almost wanting it. 

It didn't come. It was Dick in front of him, not Bruce. Not Batman, who wouldn't listen, who'd never understand, who'd left him to rot. 

Jason got what he wanted, that calm exterior shattered, but he hadn't expected what would be underneath. Those blue eyes were looking at him again, mirroring the night before. They weren't cold, or angry. They were bereaved. 

Jason realized with sudden clarity that Dick wasn't going to argue, wasn't even going to try and defend himself while Jason tore him to pieces. He looked resigned, like this was some punishment he deserved. He wasn't going to just blow up, or let Jason chase him away. 

Somehow, he'd forgotten that Dick had been under fear toxin for at least 24 hours. He'd probably heard much worse. You couldn't argue with fear toxin, there was no point in it.

The thought that he wouldn't be able to push Dick away was horrifying. Jason felt his claustrophobia kick in, like he was trapped again, and there was nothing he could do. The flame went out of him in an instant, and his heart felt like it was being crushed, boxed in and unable to move.

Jason- Jason couldn't stand it. Dick should be angry, should be seething at him and ready for a fight. They'd argue, come to blows, then Dick would storm off, and be too ashamed to try again for a while, and Jason- Jason wouldn't feel so sick, or so utterly disgusted with himself. 

He could take Nightwing's channeled energy, his cocky bullshit bravado and camaraderie. He couldn't stand him silent, couldn't deal with that look, almost the mirror image of Bruce as he held out his hand and said they could fix this, that Dick could take his scorn and anger, and still be there after. 

How had he so utterly miscalculated? It filled him with something that might have been hope, but left his guts a charred mass of flesh. He'd been here before, had dared to hope again despite every instinct to run. Then Bruce had blown himself, Alfred, and the manor all to shit. Just an empty promise, another future discarded and left to rot. Jason couldn't keep doing this. 

He'd made enough horrible mistakes in his life to know when to run. If pushing Dick away wasn't going to work, there weren't many other options. He couldn't stand that look, and all it implied. He's been on the receiving end before, and every time he let that little spark of hope take hold, it only led to disaster. Hope was dangerous. He couldn't do that again. Wasn't it enough that he'd dedicated himself to 'The Mission' when even Batman had abandoned him not once, but twice? Was he ever going to get away from these false promises?

He backed up, one shaky step after another. Jason ran, knowing that those blue eyes were still on him. He'd go to Robin, and let him deal with Nightwing instead.

Why did he ever think he could try?

-

Jason got three buildings away, which was pretty good, considering Nightwing was in hot pursuit. The worst part was that Nightwing was faster than him, always had been. Bruce _might_ have been more persistent - and that was a big gaping hole in some fragile part of his anatomy, kind of a might - but Nightwing had always been faster. 

That should have made him stop, and rethink what he was doing, but if he hadn't done that earlier in life, when it probably would have made a difference, he wasn't magically going to do it now. He should have had a more solid escape plan ready, but the whole thing had been too sudden. He'd expected to chase Dick off, not run from him. Jason had to keep moving, couldn't be tied down or held still long enough to think about what exactly he'd gotten himself into. 

Going to Dick's apartment had been a horrible mistake. The worst part was he knew it would be from the start and his fucked up sense of morality had got him do it anyway. He'd expected Dick to come to him earlier, and when it hadn't happened, he'd thought that maybe Dick didn't care. At the time it had burned, like something too hot searing his throat on the way down, but now he wished that had been the case. Voluntarily showing up at Dick's apartment had set forth a chain reaction that felt inescapable. Dick's gravity was all encompassing, and the chances of getting away would dwindling the longer Jason let Dick worm his way into Jason's head.

He wasn't Robin, trying to escape from Arkham's narrow hallways, and he wasn't the Arkham Knight, fleeing from Batman, who didn't even realize who he was, who only cared because he was a villain. He was running from Nightwing, who hadn't saved him either, who'd ignored his existence for half a year, but now seemed intent not to let him get away. Why did it all feel like some ungodly mesh of experiences? Why was it that every little god damn thing brought him right back to square one? 

Jason kept running. 

“Hood!” Nightwing called behind him, closing the distance between them fast. Jason picked up the pace, taking a risky narrow drop between two buildings. 

It didn't matter. Dick 'Flying' Grayson just dove after him without any self regard at all. He could feel Dick's hand latch onto his, and then the shoot of the grapnel gun. Free falling was such peace compared to the sudden pull of the zip-line as Nightwing swung them back up to the rooftops. They both rolled with the landing, hands falling away as they tumbled. 

Jason was on his feet, ready to start the chase again, but he wasn't fast enough. Dick reached over, his grip like cement on Jason's wrist. He tried to pull away, but Dick held, firm and unyielding. Jason glared at him, all tense angles, hoping that his anger would show despite the hood. Dick just looked at him, imploring and patient. “Jason-” 

“Screw you!” Jason hissed, and tried to pull away again. Dick didn't budge. The next thing Jason knew, one of the guns was in his hand, held to Nightwing's forehead, where there was no protection. The bullet would have ripped through his skull in a matter of seconds. “Let go of me.” Dick didn't budge.

Jason forced the gun forward, so that it was pushing against Dick's skin. If he pulled the trigger like that, the entry would literally burn Dick's flesh. Jason could almost smell it. “I swear, if you don't let go of me, I will blow your brains out.” 

“No,” Dick said. “You came to me!” 

Jason could see himself pulling the trigger. It would barely look like anything on the front, just a little hole and the round pattern of burns that came with it. Dick's eyes would have been blown wide, before going glossy. The back of his head would have been a mass of blood, bone, brains and dark sticky hair. The grip on his wrist would have fallen away as Dick topped over backwards, pushed by the force of the bullet punching through his skull. The fall would have been loud, an audible thump, and of something wet hitting stone. The smell would be thick, of blood and brain and bodily fluids. Of burned flesh. It would have been over in just four seconds, but so would everything else. 

No. 

He pistol whipped Dick instead, slamming the guns violently against his head. Dick staggered, and his grip loosened enough for Jason to pull out of his hold. He backed up a few steps, his free hand held close, as if Dick would try to grab at it again if he could. The gun was still pointed at Dick, though Jason swore to himself he wouldn't shoot. He wouldn't- 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jason yelled. “I could have-” 

“You didn't.” Dick said, cutting him off. His hand was holding the side of his head, and there was a wince on his face, but he was looking at Jason with absolute confidence. “You wouldn't.” 

“Don't just- You-” Nothing was coming out, all the words and feelings were tumbling in him, and none of them could form anything useful. So he screamed, a loud burst of sound and energy escaping him, because it had to go somewhere. “You have no idea how many people I've killed, what I could have-” 

“You wouldn't kill me,” Dick said, completely sure of himself. “And you didn't kill Bruce.” 

He couldn't breathe. 

Jason took another step back, hand to his chest, as if something was trying to spill out of him, as if he could just keep his lungs together if he held. The arm holding his gun was remarkably steady, as it pointed right between Dick's eyes.“You don't get it.” Jason managed to say around the hole where his heart should've been. “You'll never get it.” 

“Jason-” 

“Don't stand there, and act like you understand! I'm not- I could-”

Dick stepped forward, his hands out as if Jason was some wounded animal. Jason matched the step back. Why was this happening now? He couldn't afford a goddamned panic attack! 

“It's okay Jason, deep breaths. Breathe with me, slow and steady.” Dick said, his voice even and reassuring, because Dick Grayson had been the first. He knew that his job was to prioritize the victim while Batman took care of the crooks and the crazies. Only there was no Batman anymore, and Jasosn skirted over those lines too often to be considered one over the other. Jason Todd couldn't be a victim, so he'd gone and made himself a villain instead. He could hear the Joker laughing, and he wanted to split his own skull in two to get it out. 

Against all odds, Dick's voice reached him. The calm reassurance there was overwhelming, and it might have been that Jason wanted to believe he was right, that it would be okay. Deep down, Jason knew better, had spent over a year telling himself that it would be okay, when it wasn't. That Bruce would come, when he hadn't. He couldn't go down that primrose path again. 

“Don't you dare,” Jason said, and it almost sounded like a plea. He motioned with the gun, as if he could ward Dick away with it. His other arm was still at his chest, trying to push down his lungs. “Leave me alone.” 

“I'm not leaving, Jason.” Dick said, even and soft. “You can run, but I'll follow you.”

Jason laughed once, and spread his arms in a furtive gesture. “I've been in Gotham for six months.” He pointed the gun back at Dick. He wasn't as heavily armored as Batman had been, but the same rules applied. Avoid the symbol. Shoulders, and then the points between the plates. “You can't just waltz in, and pretend you cared I was ever gone.” 

“No, Jason, I-” Dick stopped, and took a deep breath before changing tactics completely. “Just this case,” he said, even and calm. “Work with me on this case. If you tell me to leave after, I will.”

Jason eyed him, knowing he couldn't trust that kind of statement. “None of your hero bullshit.” He finally said, not even sure why he was bothering. “You need to get it through your thick skull, that there's no helping me.” 

“Then you can help me.” Dick said, without skipping a beat. “We'll just clean up the fear toxin. If you want me to leave after that, I will.” Dick kept his voice calm and level, the perfect picture of someone trying to calm a raging animal. The worst part, was it was working. Jason could feel himself taking more even breaths, knew what those extended hands felt like, rough and gentle in the same stroke, and his heart suddenly wasn't trying to force its way out of his throat. 

Nightwing couldn't be trusted, not really. He was just as bad as Batman in almost every way, but that hadn't stopped Jason from saving Bruce. The dangerous part, was that Dick was just as magnetic. It was easy to believe him, and even easier to be pulled into his gravity. It was dangerous, but Jason knew that if he ran, Dick would chase him down again. He could hurt Dick, put a bullet in his knee cap, and call Robin to come pick him up, but- he didn't want- wouldn't- 

“Just the case.” Jason stated. When Dick nodded evenly, Jason felt the rest of the tension ease away, leaving him exhausted and cranky. He could have stayed mad, could feed off of that anger as much as he needed to, but he knew what he was capable if he let that anger free. He was trying to be better. 

Jason let the arm with the gun in hand fall to his side. He really didn't have the patience for this, but he would be damned if he let Nightwing figure that out. He holstered the gun, and shifted on his feet. “My town, my bust. You're just along for the ride.” 

Dick nodded. “Can do.” The smile on his face was disgustingly genuine, or at least it seemed like it. Dick had a way of lying about these things. 

-

The first order of business was to call Oracle. He trusted her more than Nightwing, and for whatever reason, Nightwing didn't want to go back to the GCPD. Jason could have just broken in on his own, but Nightwing had a point. If Oracle had the information they needed, it made sense to go to her first. If he'd been thinking straight, around the gaping problem that was Nightwing, it would have occurred to him earlier. Probably. 

That didn't mean calling her was any easier. Jason usually did okay when it was work related, but with Nightwing there, it hardly seemed necessary to go to the trouble himself. 

He turned on Nightwing. He still looked relieved, but Jason could tell the concentration he'd displayed not five minutes ago had started to falter. Dick was starting to look off center again. It was probably easier for him to focus when he had an objective in front of him, without that, things were starting unravel again. Dick's eyes were wandering, up this time, Jason noted with irritation.

“Wingding,” Jason barked, and watched as Nightwing shifted his eyes back down to him. “Call Oracle.”

Nightwing sort of blinked at that, as if he hadn't heard right. It looked like he was going to object, but in the end, Nightwing snapped his mouth shut before doing as instructed. 

Jason wouldn't admit it, but he'd taken to leadership pretty well. He liked giving orders, and it was almost a relief to make sure his men had been prepared in every way he could manage it. He didn't like that he'd had to drop that, but he wasn't the Arkham Knight anymore, so the militia had to go with it. It was nice to be giving orders again, and bossing Nightwing around was a damn nice bonus. Years ago, he would have loved to push Dick Grayson around. He'd seemed so nice and perfect back then. It gave him a little thrill, but he knew better than to indulge it long enough to let Grayson figure that out. 

Surprisingly obedient, Nightwing actually did call Oracle, and of course, since it was Oracle, she knew they were together, and tuned him into the conversation without even having to be asked. Her being able to cut or connect comms at will was one of their oldest systems, a hold over from the bat days. Bruce had liked to keep them all dumb and stupid about what he was planning. Except for Barb and Alfred. They'd always known. 

These days, the comms were typically silent. Robin went out on patrol regularly, but Gotham wasn't the cesspool it had once been. Batman had seen to that as best he could. Jason still left the comms on, even though he almost never talked through them. It was just one of those small things that made the long nights more bearable. Just the fact that he could contact them was reassuring in its own way. He was sure Barb and Tim used private comms, so that he couldn't overhear them, but he'd never asked, and didn't really want confirmation. 

“Oracle, do you have any info on-” 

“Fear Toxin?” Oracle said, though it really wasn't a question. “Staph Enterprise.” 

Jason saw Dick give him an 'I told you so' look, before he realized what Oracle had said, and scrunch up his face. “New in town? I don't recognize it.” Nightwing asked. 

“Old business, new name. Five months ago Staph was a small subsidiarity of Stagg Enterprises. His daughter Sapphire Stagg's pet project. Mostly cosmetics and pharmaceuticals. No surprise, but right before Scarecrow sent out his first warming, Staph Enterprise was cut from Stagg, and now runs independently.” 

“Not keeping all their eggs in one basket.” Nightwing said, holding up his hand and extending two fingers, like it was a plane that he then crashed. 

“There's evidence of Staph's involvement in fear toxin development, but there isn't enough to make it stick. They were developing an antidepressant called Haridotrol last year, but it didn't go through. The strain of fear toxin you brought in is similar. There's a small office in the Diamond District. Very nondescript. I'm sending you the coordinates. Link me into their system, and it'll probably give us a lead.”

“Thanks O,” Nightwing looked over at him, visibly relieved, then seemed to realize something. “O, could you check on the fear toxin being held at the GCPD? I thought someone might be smuggling it out.” 

Oracle hummed for a second, before answering. “It doesn't look like there are any discrepancies in their files, but you would have to check to be sure.” She answered. Jason gave Dick an 'I told you so' look that was anything but kind, but it didn't get across since the hood was on. He hoped his body language was enough for Nightwing to pick up the hint. If the sheepish look on Dick's face was anything to go by, it hadn't been nearly effective enough. “But the strand you brought to Robin is quite different, so that might be a dead end.” 

“We'll check anyway, after Staph Enterprise.” Dick said, more as a way of placating than anything else. When Jason gave no signs of obvious protest, he kept going. “Keep us posted if anything else comes up.” He said, before shifting under Jason's gaze.

They were still in Old Gotham, since the chase hadn't gotten him very far, so the Diamond District was close enough to take the rooftops. Without even really needing to say it, Nightwing took off, throwing a playful, “Think you can keep up?” over his shoulder. As if nothing had changed between them at all. It might have been endearing, if Jason wasn't so overtaxed. It also might have pissed him off, but again, both reactions were a waste of energy. As it were, it just reminded him of the training sessions he'd had with Nightwing back when he was Robin, and that brought up a whole nest of issues Jason didn't want to deal with. 

Jason pushed all of that down, and took off after him. 

“Hood?” Barbara's voice in his ear was softer than usual, and there was no indication that Nightwing had heard her. With Wing already a rooftop away, it was easy to mutter out a noncommittal grunt in response that wouldn't have been suspicious. “You okay with this? I can send R out to work with N. You can do the lab work instead.” 

He probably should have been annoyed that she felt the need to offer, but he didn't. Barb knew him pretty well at this point, and it usually showed in the little things. It also scared him shitless. If he fucked this up, he'd lose whatever tenuous relationship he'd started with her and Tim. It would've been smarter to take her advice. She loved Dick, but they both knew that he could be a handful, and Jason wasn't sure if he was ready to deal with him. 

“I got it,” Jason said, softer than he would have normally. Nightwing was still leaps and bounds ahead of him, so it was probably fine. 

Barb didn't say anything else about it. “Keep an eye on him. He's got a lot more fear toxin in his system then we thought.”

“He'll be fine,” Jason said, more of a token response than anything else. The line was quiet after that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a returning reader, please be aware that I've updated the first chapter of this story with some revisions and minor additions. You don't need to reread it, but I think it's a better overall experience, and does change some of the tone, so I'd advise it.

“C'mon Hood, Gotham isn't going to save herself,” Nightwing called from two buildings away. He was standing, listing to one side, with his hips jutted out. With a playfully grin on his face, Nightwing mocked a yawn. 

Jason considered slowing down, just to be obnoxious, but that would waste time. This whole buddy buddy routine was forced and stupid, and Jason wanted to throttle Dick for it. Yes, they were working together for this one case, but that didn't give Dick leeway to treat him like they were friends, or god forbid, siblings. They weren't, and it pissed him off that Dick thought he could just willfully ignore all of the baggage between them. It must have been nice, to just be able to compartmentalize it all away like it didn't mean shit. He didn't have the patience for this.

Jason wanted to catch up and knock that smile right off his stupid smug face. As Jason zip-lined to close the distance between them, Nightwing turned and started running again, but Jason was still in full sprint, and Nightwing was just starting up again. It took a little bit of effort to really get going, and Dick had wasted time on that taunt. When Jason passed him not long after, there was a satisfying sense of triumph to the act. It was stupid, Jason knew it; Dick was drugged to the gills, and probably had an injury to one of his legs, but a win was a win. 

That was until Jason looked back, and Dick was gone. He checked both sides, but when he still didn't find Dick, Jason came to a full stop. With a prickling in his gut that might have been worry, Jason turned to really look behind him. Dick should have been right on his tail, but as Jason looked around, there was no sign of him. He'd taken his eyes off him for less than a thirty seconds! 

“Yoohoo,” Dick said, the voice up and to the right. Jason looked up, his temper simmering. Dick was perched on an old water tower, posed on the balls of his feet, in that particular way that screamed 'Nightwing'. He was grinning down at Jason like one of the many gargoyles the city was known for. “Thought you'd lost me?” 

Jason glowered. “I'm not the one high as a kite and acting like a moron,” Jason grit out, clenching his fists. He imagined slamming them into Nightwing's face, which actually made him feel a little better. Not much, but a little.

“I'm sure you meant moron in it's most positive sense,” Dick said, vaulting off of the water tower, adding some extra flourishes to the jump, before landing not far away. “Let's take it a little slower, even if it is fun to watch you chasing after me.” Dick's voice was light, airy, as if a sprint over rooftops was just what he'd needed to clear up his head. He even looked refreshed. Not back to normal, not well, but jittery, like he'd taken a shot of espresso, and the energy didn't know how to get out of him.

Alarm bells started going off in Jason's head the moment Dick landed. He was too close, but Jason held his ground. Those alarms got louder as Dick spoke, his voice light and inviting. The whole thing was enough to set him on edge. Dick really was all over the damn place tonight, and that unpredictability made him more dangerous than usual.

“No bullshit,” Jason warned, knowing that he was wasting his time, because Dick Grayson didn't listen. Never had. He really should have taken Barb's offer. “We've got things to do, then I want your drugged ass out of my city. You're a public menace till then.” 

Dick straightened, and shifted. The mask of camaraderie he'd put up was slipping, and he started fidgeting again. Good, Jason didn't want the act. The sooner Nightwing got it through his thick skull that they weren't going to be allies, or friends, the better. 

“This might come as a shock,” Dick said, his tone even, “but I'm not here to upstage you.” 

The statement took Jason right back to Halloween six months ago. Dick had said something similar to Bruce, playful and teasing, about conceding the spotlight. As if that had ever mattered. What mattered, was solving this case, getting Dick an anti-toxin, and then getting him the hell out of Gotham. This flippant nonsense was enough to piss him off.

“Everything's just a show for you, isn't it?” Jason spat. “You've never taken a thing seriously in your whole life. If you did, you probably wouldn't be in this mess.” Jason certainly wouldn't be doing this if Dick had handled his own damn city. 

Dick had put them too close, but Jason went ahead and took a step closer, getting in Dick's face. He needed to shut this friendly act down. He'd failed before, but if Dick was going to try again, Jason needed to put him in his place. 

Dick's face fell, and Jason could see the tension starting to eat away at his confidence. Jason was glad to see it go. The thought of shoving Dick off of his entitled pedestal was insatiable. Dick didn't back away, he let Jason get close without making a move himself. 

“Can we get through a single conversation?” Dick asked, and he sounded tired. 

Jason popped his neck with a sudden jerking motion, and took a step back. As far as he was concerned, Dick should be happy they hadn't come to blows. Yet. “I'm not the one begging for help,” Jason said, as he turned. 

Jason was ready to leave, to get back to what they were actually doing, when Dick spoke up, and stopped him in his tracks. “You may not be begging, Jason, but that doesn't mean you don't need it.” 

He'd thought he'd used up most of his emotional baggage quota for the night, but apparently he was wrong. At the comment, Jason's temper came roaring back with a vengeance. He turned on Dick, his shoulders squared and menace in his voice.“You're making a solid argument for me to choke you out again.” 

“Do you think that'll make this easier?” Dick asked, his voice incredulous. He shook his head, eyes solidly on Jason. “It's just another way of running, Jason.” 

“You shut the hell up,” Jason bit out, pointing an accusing finger at Dick. What goddamn right did Dick Grayson have to call _him_ a runner? “Take this self righteous crap to someone who cares.” Jason made a slicing motion with his hand, trying to physically cut this whole conversation off.

“You care,” Dick asserted, his voice soft. “I know you care.” The amount of conviction in Dick's voice was sickening.

Jason closed the space between them, with his shoulders hunched and his fists ready to throw the first punch.“You don't know a goddamn thing about me.” He stopped in front of Nightwing again, close, but not that close. If it came to a fight, with his longer arms, he'd have a slight advantage at this distance. “You never did.” 

“Little Wing-” Dick reached out, tried to put his god damn hand on him again. Jason slapped it away with more force than was necessary, and took a step back. 

“I'm not your Little Wing,” Jason took another step back, and then another, “and I'm not Robin. That kid is dead.” 

Dick matched him, stepping forward for each time Jason took a step back. “He isn't.” Dick spread his hands out in front of him, waving them once at Jason for emphasis. “If he was, you wouldn't be parading around Gotham with that bat on your chest.” Dick reached out to touch it, but Jason took another step back. 

This was too much, Dick was closing in on him again. He had to make this stop. “Don't get sentimental on me. You didn't give a shit when that kid was alive, and you don't now.” 

That comment made Dick stop, his arms falling to his side. His face screwed up as if he was in physical pain, before Dick let his head hang for just a second, hiding the expression.

The instinct to run was there again, to put distance between them before Dick came to any conclusions about what he'd said. This was all dangerous territory, and Jason wanted nothing to do with it. 

Jason was already starting to walk away again when Dick beat him to the punch. Fucker was always fast. “You work with Tim and Babs.” 

“What?” Jason angled Dick a look over his shoulder.

“You work with Tim and Babs,” Dick said simply. “Why am I the exception? You even forgave Bruce. Why not me?” Jason would have expected that question to be emotional, delivered with every ounce of Dick's dramatic flare, but it wasn't. It was a simple question, like Dick was preparing himself for an answer he didn't want to hear, but needed to know. 

“Because he was sorry,” Jason said, hoping to god that it was right, “and once upon a time, I knew he loved me. You're just throwing a hissy fit because someone doesn't like you. I don't care. I've got my own problems, I don't need yours.”

Dick turned on him, tried to close the distance again, this time almost desperately. “Jason, I-” Jason stopped him with one hand

“Save it, I don't want your saccharine nonsense.” He held up one finger. “One night, then you can go back to Bludhaven,” Jason pointed that one finger at Dick, then motioned with his thumb as if he was tossing something over his shoulder. Then Jason crossed his hands, and uncrossed them in a quick gesture, a dismissal, “and forget I ever existed. Again.” 

“I never forgot about you!” Dick asserted, hands visibly shaking at his sides. Why, Jason couldn't tell.

“Great,” Jason shrugged, “glad we had this talk. Do you want a medal or something? Go peddle this shit to someone who cares.” 

Once again, Jason tried to lead. If he could just get off this damn roof, maybe Dick would let this conversation die. Jason was ready to just keep going, no matter what Dick said, but what came out of his mouth had Jason freeze. 

“Take off the hood.” 

“No,” the answer was instantaneous, every inch of Jason on high alert. He couldn't do this without the hood on, couldn't face down Dick without that extra layer in place. The fact that Dick wanted it off was dangerous. There was no way Jason could do it, he was already too exposed, too vulnerable. He didn't need anyone taking away that last shred of safety he had, no matter how stupid it was. 

“Jason,” Dick implored, his tone taking on an aggressive streak. “Take off the hood. If you're going to yell at me, do it to my face, not with that thing in the way!” 

“I don't owe you a goddamn thing.” Jason bit out. He couldn't do it. How did Dick always find the perfect way to unnerve him? 

“I want to see your face. Look me in the eye-” 

“I came to you with it off!” Jason screamed, finally turning around to look at Dick over his shoulder. His his traitorous voice trembled. “And you punched me in the face.”

Dick deflated, like every bit of fight in him was gone. “I'm so sorry, Jason. I don't want to fight with you.” 

“Then stop talking.” Jason turned back around, his back to Dick. “If you want us to get along, then shut your damn mouth. Do the job, keep your promise, and get the hell out of Gotham when we're done.” 

“You really don't want anything to do with me?” Dick asked. There was a hand on his shoulder. Dick had silently closed the distance between them, and reached out. Jason had been too lost in himself to even realize it. 

He slapped the hand away, and shoved Dick back. “You were the one that left me for dead, Dickie.” Jason accused, putting every ounce of venom in it. “Just be glad I'm not returning the favor.” 

“I missed you,” the broken little voice didn't sound like Dick. It sounded like the tortured thing he'd found last night in Dick's apartment, but that wasn't enough to stop Jason now. 

“I missed you too,” and Jason made the statement a mockery, a falsetto joke that would have made the Joker proud. “Is that what you wanted to hear? I waited Dick. For over a year, I believed, hoped and prayed. Where were you? In Bludhaven, hiding away like you've been for the past six months. Guess what, I. Don't. Care.” 

“You came to me!” Dick yelled, his face such a mix of emotions that Jason couldn't piece them all together. “You came to help me, waited on the roof outside my apartment for hours, and you want me to believe that you don't care?” Dick's tone had been harried, like he couldn't get the words out fast enough, but by the end they'd slowed, became jagged bits of sound, like they were cutting him on their way out of his throat. 

“It was the right thing to do,” Jason said simply. It had. It'd taken him four days to come to terms with it, but it had. Even if it he regretted it, he could still admit it had been the right thing. 

“It was.” Dick said, and he almost looked like he was fighting down tears. He shook his head. “I don't want to argue with you, Jason. You're right, I wasn't there when you needed me. There isn't a day that goes by where I wish I could have taken your place.”

Jason's lungs stopped working. The images came to him unbidden, of months of torture and torment, but instead of him, it was Dick. Sobbing and pleading as blades cut into the junctions of his toes, electricity coursing through his veins while Harley Quinn drew something idly on a clipboard a few feet away, fingers smashed a with hammer and nails sticking out of them, being tied to a chair and left for days blindfolded and scared, the Joker forcing rot and poison down his throat like he was some errant child, Dick eating it, forcing it all down because he needed anything to keep his strength up for a rescue that was never coming, choking on his own vomit when he couldn't do it anymore- an endless line of images, of horrors playing before him. 

A world where it was Dick that had gone missing, but of course Bruce would have found him if it was Dick, wouldn't he? Would he? “Shut up,” Jason couldn't get the words out of his mouth fast enough. “Shut your goddamn mouth. I don't wanna hear another word. This conversation is over.” He was dizzy with it, couldn't think, couldn't get the images and sounds out of his head. If he let them, the what ifs would eat him alive. 

“I would have traded places in a heart beat, Jason.” He knew Dick was right there, beside him, steady breaths, and a heartbeat he could feel through his fingertips, steady and unwavering, but it was all distant. He was on the ground, trying to keep his lungs working. He had to focus on that, on just breathing. The steady rhythm of Dick's heartbeat helped. They fought off the thoughts, the images and sounds. 

They were quiet for what felt like a long time, but that happened when these things hit, when the world fell on top of him, and he couldn't deal with the weight of it. When the past reached out and tried to choke him, shove it's fingers down his throat and yell at him to keep it all down, keep it all in. 

Jason had no idea how long it actually was. When he came back to himself, he was on his knees. Dick had pressed Jason's fingers to his neck, where Jason could feel the steady pulse of Dick's heart beat. 

Jason took a shaky breath, and pulled his hand away. 

“I'm sorry,” Dick said, and Jason believed it, but he was so damn tired. “I can't change what happened, no matter how much I wish I could, but I want to be there for you.” 

“Pretty words, Dickie,” Jason managed to say. “That's all you were ever good for. I don't need them.”

“What if I need you?” Dick asked.

“Don't make me laugh.” Jason grit out, his voice ragged and bitter. He stood up, and the world rushed up with him, but Jason stayed firmly planted. His fingers were shaking, he had to get a handle on that somehow. “You play along, because it makes you feel good to be better than the rest of us,” he could still do this, had to still do this, couldn't let it keep getting in his way “but the perfect Dick Grayson doesn't need anyone.” Jason walked, could walk. If he could walk, he could run, could jump from this building to the next one. He could do this. He placed a hand on the side of the roof, because they were still trembling, and he needed them to stop. “That's why you're in Bludhaven, so you can get away from all those pesky responsibilities dragging you down.” 

“You're wrong.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, Dick.” Jason pulled out his grapnel, and aimed. “Maybe you'll believe it one day.” 

He shot, and was off. Jason didn't care if Dick followed or not. 

Of course, he did. 

-

Said office really was small and nondescript. It was only one floor on an otherwise full tower, and it looked like maybe only 30 people worked there on a day to day basis, all of which spent their time behind a desk and accompanying computer. Even the name was in small blocky letters, nothing fancy or eye catching.

The security, on the other hand was surprisingly sophisticated. Stagg Enterprises was in shambles, so it made sense that Staph Enterprise would do it's level best to keep that connection out of the public eye and protect any information or properties they still had. The only sympathizers Stagg would likely ever have in Gotham proper, were blood relatives. That tended to happen when you helped Scarecrow try to fear toxin a whole goddamn city. Not that he'd know anything about _that_. Or having forgiving blood relatives.

That didn't mean it was hard it get into the place, just that it took Jason 5 minutes instead of 3. He might have been able to get it done faster on a good night, but that boat had long sailed. Nightwing stood by as he worked, leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed over his chest in a way that looked like he was holding himself. He was blessedly quiet. Any time Jason looked over, he was squinting in a different direction, tense and ready to spring. There was never anything there of course, which made the whole situation that much more irritating.

“Would you stop it?” Jason bit, because every time Nightwing twitched, Jason zeroed in on the movement, and it was god damn annoying. He could admit that he was in a bad mood, that he was tired, angry and short tempered. If he could just get his shit together, he wouldn't have these problems for Nightwing to come and antagonize, but he did, and that made him all the more volatile. It was Nightwing that had forced this little reunion, so he'd just have to deal with the consequences. Who was Jason to refuse Dick the pleasure of his sunny personality.

Nightwing looked over at him almost curiously, before looking down in thought. “Sorry,” he said. He then opted to just close his eyes instead, which might have actually solved the problem, but added nothing to the situation. It wasn't like they needed a look out for this, but it was still annoying that Nightwing wasn't even trying anymore. Jason stifled another irate comment, and kept working.

“Security's disabled.” Jason disconnected his phone, and put it back into one of the more padded pockets on his jacket. Beside him, Nightwing blinked his eyes open a few times, and moved to open the door to the office. Jason held out a hand to stop him. “The GCPD was yours, and you blew it. It's my turn.”

Nightwing opened his mouth to protest, visibly torn at the statement, before snapping his mouth shut. He stepped aside, and took up the same post he'd had before, leaning against the wall. Jason noted that he was still holding himself, but this time it was in some failed attempt at bravado. It was more of a sulk than anything.

Smirking a little at how gratifying it was to be ordering Nightwing around, Jason opened the door, and waltzed in on his own.

With the security disabled, it was a piece of cake to just go in, find the right office – the biggest one- and boot up the computer. While he was waiting, Jason went through the drawers of Sapphire Stagg's desk, looking for anything that might be useful. He didn't find much of interest on a cursory look, but by then the computer screen was a bright glowing blue, waiting for a password. He connected it to his phone, updated Oracle, and let her do her work.

Upon closer inspection, he found a hidden compartment under the desk, which would easily be accessible by someone sitting at it. The minute he slipped under the desk and opened the compartment, the office door slammed shut.

They'd been expected.

Jason was on his feet less than a second later, the comm crackling to life in his ear as he stalked to the door with a single-minded determination.

“It's the Riddler,” Oracle said, with only a hint of distaste to her voice. Jason barely heard her.

He rushed to the door, trying to shove down a growing sense of dread, and failing miserably. The good thing about being on the wrong side of the law, was that Jason tended to run before being properly trapped, and boy could he run.

Jason could have taken a physical fight in a heartbeat, but being trapped was a million times worse.

The door wouldn't open.

Several things happened at once. From outside of Stagg's office, Jason heard the sound of furniture breaking, amid words and phrases that didn't form coherent statements in his head. From inside the room, there came a soft hissing. He looked up. There was a gas filtering in from one of the vents, Jason could almost smell it. Nightwing said over the comms, “We've got company!”

Jason heard, saw, and even smelt all of these things, but it was like it was happening to someone else. He was being left behind.

Jason was trapped somewhere else.

The Joker was laughing in his head, his sticky, singsong voice chanting “Mine, mine, mine,” over and over. There were ropes holding him down. He couldn't move. If he breathed in the gas he'd start hallucinating, laughing or choking, but he could only hold his breath for so long, before bony fingers pried them open.

There were voices in his ears, or his head, but he couldn't understand them. They were all a mess, noises drowned out by laughter. The knife lodged in him was searing, flesh burning, electricity running through his finger tips, poison filling, burning his throat. Batman- he would- was-

“Dead!” singsonged the Joker, a joyous chorus of wet filth slipping down his throat. “Dead, dead the Bat is Dead. Good old Todd painted Gotham red!”

He was banging on the door. No one was going to come. There were gunshots. Joker lodging a bullet in his chest, then digging it back out, dragging him back for more. Blood filling his lung. He couldn't breathe, gas and acid, he was choking on his own vomit. No one was-

“Jason!” Someone was holding him. Pulling. Strong arms in black kevlar caging him. Dragging him down to Arkham. Batman would lock him away to rot. He could scream and plead all he wanted, but it wouldn't matter. Why didn't they just ki-

“Jason, stop!”

The hood was off. He could smell gunpowder and blood. He could breathe.

Jason blinked, before understanding crawled up his spine. Dick looked roughed up, but otherwise okay. If he was injured, it wasn't obvious. The humanoid robots on the floor, littered with bullets, twitching and sparking, hadn't been so lucky. The aim had been unfailingly accurate, for human vitals. If these had been people, they'd all be dead.

He looked back at the office. It had only been locked from the inside. A simple twist from the outside had opened it. Jason wasn't even sure when he'd gotten out. He could still hear the faint hissing of the gas. It had probably been meant to knock him out. He wondered how much of it he'd taken in. If he'd been in his right mind, he would've activated the hoods filtration system, but obviously that bit of common sense had been too much to ask. It wouldn't have gotten everything, but it would've handled most of the gas. He hadn't been thinking, had no idea how much of the drug was in his system. 

Nightwing's arms fell away from him. He took a step back, breathing hard. The blood in the air had to be his, but Jason didn't know where it was coming from. Had Nightwing been shot? Jason couldn't say. He didn't remember shooting all of Riddler's bots either, but there they were, nonetheless. It felt like it'd happened to someone else. Sure, the machines hadn't been human, but Jason knew for a fact that wouldn't have mattered.

This was fine.

Grayson would get the picture now. They'd have the Asylum talk, and this time when Nightwing chased him down, Jason would shoot him. It was so simple. Why hadn't he done this earlier?

Jason didn't think he had the energy to keep standing, but he walked past Nightwing anyway, and out of Staph Enterprise. _Focus on what you want to achieve_ , Batman had said once, but he probably hadn't anticipated Jason would use that sort of focus just to keep walking.

“Jason!” Ah, Nightwing was angry. If Jason could have run, he would, but walking was hard enough, he couldn't do more. Nightwing ran in front of him, and blocked his way. “What the h-”

“Fuck off,” Jason said, but it lacked any tone or inflection. Whatever emotional fortitude he usually had was gone, his well was empty. There was nothing in him, and he couldn't fake it. He tried to move around Nightwing, but it wasn't working. Between the gas, the flashbacks, and the Joker's laughter in his head, Jason didn't have the energy for this.

Jason tried to push Nightwing out of the way, but he was a wall, and didn't even seem to notice. Jason had spent so much time gaining his strength back after 16 months of wasting, and now he couldn't even shove past Nightwing. What was the point anymore?

“You can't just lose it like that!” Nightwing said, obviously trying to keep his temper in check and failing miserably.

“Apparently, I can.” Jason said, still trying to get around Nightwing. It didn't work. When he stopped moving, Jason knew he wasn't going to be able to start again. Not for a while at least. Resigned to his fate, Jason leaned against the wall in the corridor. The elevator was so close, if only Nightwing would just get out of the way.

His legs were slowly losing what strength they still had, and he sunk down to the floor. Would the elevator even work? They were on the 26th floor, closer to the top of the building. They'd come in via the roof, and taken the stairs, but he was in no condition to be hopping skyscrapers in the Diamond district. Would the elevator take him down? Would he have to avoid a security guard? There were too many variables. Poor planning is what Batman would have said.

He looked up, and realized that Nightwing had the hood cradled in his arm. Jason was at least glad he'd worn the spare domino Robin had given him under the hood.

“Just tell me you knew they were machines,” Dick said, but his eyes belied what he really thought. It was almost funny that he was even asking. “Just-”

Jason looked away, back at the elevator.

“Hood, you need help.” Nightwing's tone had been on the verge of anger before. Now, it was softer, worried and upset. Damned Dick Grayson and his bleeding heart. “Serious help.” Nightwing squatted then, putting himself right in between Jason's eyes and the elevator he'd been focusing on.

For just a moment he caught the wash of concern on Nightwing's face. It made him sick. “Go away,” Jason said, turning his face so that he wouldn't have to look at Nightwing. It was childish, and wouldn't work, but Jason had learned how to avoid things that were right in front of him.

“Would you stop avoiding me?” Nightwing asked, moving again to be in his line of sight. So Jason let his head droop. Nightwing wasn't going to put himself in Jason's lap, he was at least sure of that. He focused on his hands, lifting them from the floor into his lap. He counted his fingers in his head, slow and steady. Still had ten, and they weren't smashed, or missing nails. They all worked. That was something at least. He was still pretty amazed about it if he was being honest. Small victories, he reminded himself.

“What do you want?” The question was a shuttered murmur at best. He was so tired. If he was somewhere safe could have just fallen asleep right there. Had to get Nightwing to leave him alone somehow. If he could just rest for a bit, maybe it would be easier to get up.

Nightwing either hadn't heard him, or didn't care. “Those could have been people. This can't happen again.” The tone was soft, not nearly as angry as it should have been. 

There would be enough evidence to link him to the Black Mask case now that Nightwing had seen him lose it. It was a shame he'd gone out of his way to try hiding it for so long. Nightwing should be dragging him to the GCPD. Maybe that would be enough motivation to get him up and moving again. “It can't.” Nightwing's voice was quiet, but firm.

Nightwing reached for one of Jason's hands. “Don't-” Jason said, and Nightwing hesitated, before pulling his hand back.

“Can you get up?” The question was almost gentle.

The answer was no. He said, “leave me alone,” instead.

There was silence for a few moments. He knew that Nightwing wasn't going to go away, but the quiet that stretched between them made him irrationally hopeful.

It, of course, ended. “Hood, let me help. Please.” Jason was surprised Nightwing didn't reach out to try and touch him. Again.

“There's no helping me.” Nightwing made a small, distressed sound deep in his throat, but Jason was still happy to avoid looking at him.

“Jay-”

“Stop talking to me.”

“I'm not going to leave you here.” Jason wished he'd just shut up. “I'll take you anywhere you want, but we have to go. The GCPD is going to be here any minute.”

Jason almost commented on how it would be in Nightwing's best interest to just leave him for the GCPD, but that would have taken too much effort. Changing a bat's mind once it was made up was always a losing strategy. Jason knew that the hard way. He rattled off the address of one of his nearby safe houses. 

He wasn't attached, this could be abandoned.

-

Jason wished he could just pass out, but that would mean trusting Nightwing, and he wasn't about to do that. It was bad enough that Nightwing was supporting most of his weight. Nightwing had doubled back into the room for a few moments before coming back to help him up. In the absence, Jason had tried to get up, and realized he couldn't. He might have been able to crawl, but Nightwing had come back before he'd been able to try it in earnest.

They were doing the human crutch hold, one of Nightwing's arms wrapped around his waist, and Jason's arm slung over Nightwing's shoulder. The strain in his back from the hold was enough to stave off exhaustion, but it worked since Jason still had some energy, even if wasn't enough to move on his own. The worst part, was that other than the pain in his upper back, he was adjusting to the contact. When Nightwing first slipped his arm around Jason's waist, he'd wanted to recoil, but hard pragmatism and exhaustion were convincing bedfellows.

They'd been hobbling along for what felt like an eternity. Worse, it'd been long enough that the contact was almost becoming a comfort. Without even realizing it he'd started leaning into Nightwing, noticing how warm and familiar he was. Jason just felt cold and sweaty. That, was a problem.

Thank god Nightwing had given back the hood. With the scent canceler on, he didn't have to smell Dick's shampoo, sweat, or the blood that had bled onto his uniform. Jason didn't know if the injury had been one he'd inflicted, one Nightwing had gotten in the skirmish, or even if his brain was fabricating it, but the scent overpowered everything else. Jason was glad he didn't have to deal with it.

The hood was a damn godsend, best thing he'd ever made. If he hadn't needed to smoke, and occasionally eat, he might've considered wearing it all the damn time. It was much better than seeing his actual face every time he looked in the mirror.

Nightwing had remotely called for his cycle to meet them outside the building and from there they'd gone down at a snail's pace. Who knew that one stupid elevator ride, snugly slotted against Nightwing as they both leaned against the elevator's wall, could take such a long time, or how it had already undone all the work he'd done convincing himself that Nightwing's touch was literal acid.

They didn't encounter any resistance in the lobby, but there a few flashing red lights at the large reception desk in the entryway. Jason wondered if Oracle had done something to direct any lingering guards away, or if there really hadn't been any.

Nightwing was blessedly quiet until they got outside of the building, where the motorcycle was waiting. That changed once they were both on the bike. Jason was leaning his chest against Nightwing's back more out of necessity then anything else, but as always, the contact seemed to make Dick more comfortable. Jason hated him for it.

“Brings back memories,” Nightwing said, right after they'd pulled out. Sadly, Dick was right. It did bring back memories. He wished Nightwing would just shut the hell up. 

“At 13 you could steal the hubcaps off of anything with wheels, hot wire a car in 10 seconds and almost shot the Joker in the face, but you couldn't ride a bike.” He'd never needed to. Gotham wasn't exactly a bicycle friendly city. Everyone with enough sense and money drove, and motorcycles were mostly for the crazies, bats and birds included. People that didn't drive in Gotham, were good at running.

“The first time I met you at the manor, I let you try out my cycle, and you ran it into a tree. Almost gave me a heart attack. I was so happy I made you wear a helmet, I remember you didn't want to at first.” Nightwing chuckled at that, sad and soft. 

Jason didn't remember the actual crash. He remembered the first ride, how they'd been slotted like this as Dick revved the engine. Dick had laughed. It had been such a bold, vibrant sound, and Dick had felt so solid as the wind rolled over his broad shoulders.

Jason had loved that ride. Under other circumstances, he wouldn't have been able to wrap his arms around Dick's waist. He wasn't used to hugging or being that close to other people, and the rush of adrenaline that came with it. It'd been amazing, but the ride had ended too soon. Jason had wanted more. He'd goaded Dick into letting him ride it on his own, claiming with stupid bravado that of course he knew how.

His actual plan had been to have Dick riding behind him, but he'd wanted to try it out himself first, to see if it made a difference to do it alone, or if the energy of it was all about that contact and the trust that came with it. 

He'd quickly realized it was a horrible decision, but by then it was already too late to back down.

“You were stuck in bed for almost a month, and Bruce was so angry at me. He chased me out of the manor, and didn't let me visit for two weeks.” Jason had always just assumed Dick hadn't cared enough to come visit. He'd decimated Dick's bike, and fresh off the streets, he'd known that most people would care more about that then him. He'd wanted to impress Dick that first time, but he'd only made a fool of himself. Dick not showing up those first two weeks had hurt. He never even considered that Bruce might have been to blame, but the issue was old and buried now. It didn't matter.

“I wanted to apologize. I'd been playing it over in my head, chewing up all of the 'responsible' talk Bruce had been berating me with. I really wanted to be a good brother. I loved having a big family in the circus, and I wanted it to be like that. I knew exactly how I wanted it to go. Then you called me 'Dickface' and that was the end of that.” That had been the first of many arguments. Jason had too much of a chip on his shoulder, was still floundering to be something he wasn't - a replacement Robin, a better son, the partner Batman needed, a part of the family - and his pride had been severely damaged. Lashing out had been inevitable.

Their shouting match had rivaled anything Bruce and Dick could get up to. He remembered hurling the most hurtful words he could at Dick, and relishing how he'd reacted to them. Even then he'd been a vindictive thing, easily hurt, and just as ready to lash out at others.

“Babs told me to write out what I wanted to say, and send you a letter, but I couldn't send it. It's in a shoe box under my bed.” Nightwing stopped talking, and with Jason's head draped over his shoulder, Jason could feel the hint of tension before it evened out. “It wasn't the last one I wrote,” Nightwing admitted softly.

In true Bruce fashion, Dick had bought him a pedal bike a few days after the argument. instead of actually apologizing. Jason had been pissed, which had resulted in another argument Bruce had been forced to break up. A week later, when he was let out of bed rest with a clean bill of health, Alfred had helped him learn how to ride the bike, and he'd loved it. That bike had given him back a freedom he'd lost when he went to live at Wayne manor. He hadn't had to walk five miles to get to Gotham anymore, and he still remembered teaching himself tricks on that glistening green bike. It had felt like his. At that point it had been one of the most expensive gifts he'd ever received, but that had only added to the tension between them. Jason had never liked feeling like he could be bought.

Bruce had replaced it with a proper Robin Cycle at some point, and Jason hadn't thought much of it since. Not that he would have ever let Dick know that he'd adored that dumb bike. God, he'd been such a stupid kid.

“Maybe if I hadn't been a coward, or so selfish, we could've...” Nightwing trailed off, his voice hitching.

Dick was giving himself too much credit in all of this as far as Jason was concerned. The prodigal first son rarely came up in conversation within the manor, but there'd been the shadow of him everywhere. His bright smiling face from pictures, the little trophies from competitions, echoes of past mischief that had been lovingly preserved, and questions. Questions from every angle. Almost every time someone saw Jason at Bruce's side, they asked about Dick, writing off Jason as the stand in son.

People liked Dick; he was charming, gorgeous, generous, and heroic to a fault. The definition of the good son. Jason was comparatively scruffy, scathingly jealous, had trouble smiling when he didn't want to, and was distrustful of anyone who came within a four foot radius of him, Bruce, Alfred or the manor. He'd been able to add Barbara to that list at some point, but Dick was too much like competition, and he was too good at it to be much else.

Dick Grayson had slotted himself so completely into the manor and the life of its inhabitants that it was impossible to get away from him, and that would have poisoned any chance they had, even if the crash hadn't happened. Jason, could never have just accepted being second best.

At some point, Jason had realized that part of being the good son was getting along with Dick, and he'd started trying more after that, but Dick hadn't stopped trying, despite Jason's standoffish treatment. There'd been training sessions, and weekend outings, arcade runs and movie nights. On weekends, Barb sometimes came with them too. Jason probably wouldn't have called Dick a brother, but they'd been trying. It'd always amazed him how fast to forgive Dick was, and he had a way of just reaching out to people that was downright infectious. Jason hadn't even realized he liked casual contact until Dick waltzed into his life.

There were good memories, even a few that had helped keep him alive, thinking about the family that must have been desperately searching for him. He'd clung to that, all of the memories of Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Barbara, but those had been long tainted, and Jason couldn't think of them without hearing the Joker's voice hissing in his ear that they were fake. It was another reminder that he couldn't get attached.

The rest of the ride passed in blessed silence. Whatever had roused Nightwing to speak, it hadn't lasted. Jason was grateful. Dick had been trying to appeal to him in some way, but Jason was too drained for what he was selling. Even if he wasn't, he probably wouldn't have trusted it. He knew Dick was mostly honest about these things, 'heart-on-their-shoulder' types usually were, but that didn't actually change anything. He knew how far bat dedication went, and had enough scars and nightmares to win any argument.

_But it had worked with Barb_ , a small part of him thought. Barbara was just as much bat as the rest of them, and he had at least started to build something of a relationship with her. He was of use to her and Robin, and had carved out even a small place for himself in Gotham's streets. But Dick, Dick was too much like Bruce. Too much bullshit and bluster. Too many empty promises that didn't mean jack shit. He shouldn't even have considering it.

When they arrived at the safe house, it'd been enough of a rest that Jason was able to dismount, and walk on his own again. He could still feel the drugs in his system, but that wouldn't impede him too much. So when Nightwing reached over to help, Jason swatted his hand away. Looking like a kicked puppy, Nightwing stepped back. He fidgeted for a few moments, obviously trying to figure out what to say, but Jason was beyond caring.

This time, when he walked past Nightwing, he went unopposed. He slipped into the apartment building, expecting Nightwing to follow at his heels, or say something pathetic.

He didn't.

Jason got all the way to the apartment on the seventh floor. Nightwing didn't come after him. He wasn't sure what he thought about that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind that this is an Arkahm fic, and that I tried my best to work strictly off of it's canon. That being said, I hope you enjoy this monster chapter. Happy Easter to those of you that celebrate!

Jason's first thought upon waking the next morning was that he was still exhausted.

He'd hoped the drug would've just knocked him out. A dreamless night might have even been worth it, but no luck there. He'd been trapped in Arkham as the Red Hood, with laughter billowing around him and the Joker around every third corner. He'd shot to kill every time, but it had always been someone else; Bruce and Dick usually, but sometimes Barbara, and Tim. He'd known it had to be a dream, but upon waking, it had left a lingering sense of unease and panic that just added to his exhaustion.

The second thought was that he had to get the hell out of here.

Dick knew about this place, and he wasn't about to sit around on his thumbs waiting for the ax to fall. He couldn't, under any circumstances have Dick, or god forbid Nightwing, popping into his safe houses. Last night had been enough proof of that. He was too much like Bruce, brought up too many horrible memories, and it was too tempting to believe his empty promises.

Jason pulled himself out of bed, intent that he needed to get his shit and go. 

He rolled out of bed and stopped dead in his tracks. There on his nightstand, was one single escrima stick. His first week of being Robin, Jason had gone out, driven to Bludhaven, and snuck into Dick's apartment, just to prove he could. What childish argument had prompted the idea, Jason couldn't recall, but he knew it'd been a childish one-upmanship. He'd nicked two of Dick's escrima sticks, sure that he had a host more, just like the bat always did. The next morning, he'd woken up to find one of them missing. Every subsequent time he'd done so, had gotten him the same results. 

Dick had been here, likely while he'd been sleeping. Jason didn't think he would have missed that when he got back, but it was possible. He'd been so exhausted that he'd just managed to get his shoes off before collapsing on the bed. He'd even slept in his uniform, which hadn't been comfortable.

To confirm his theory that Dick had been here, when Jason walked into the kitchen, his burner phone was on the counter. The same phone he had completely forgotten on Sapphire Stagg's desk, still plugged into her computer the night before.

It made his skin crawl that Nightwing had just come in on his own, beaten his security and that Jason had slept through it. He almost about faced right there, but something caught his eye. There was something sticking out from under the phone. Jason moved it to reveal a piece of paper, folded twice into a small square.

 _J,_  
_We need to talk. Please don't run._  
_I'll stop by tomorrow._  
_See you soon,_  
_D_

Yeah, Dick would want to talk. Jason had some pretty good ideas what it would be about too, how he was insane, a liability. How he needed to be off the streets. That would follow with a talk about consequences, and then when he refused, ultimatums. As if he didn't already know everything Dick was going to throw in his face. 

Even if he knew it was true, what could Jason do? He needed the rooftops, the crusade. He had nothing else, and he wasn't about to let Dick Grayson take it away. Even if it meant going into hiding. 'Running', as Dick had put it. 

The worst part, was that was the good side of things. It could go so much worse, so horribly bad. He didn't think they'd try sending him to Arkham, but the possibility was there, clouding any shred of judgment in his head. 

As if sensing his need for a distraction, the phone lit up, a new call displayed on it's screen.

Barb.

She had to know by now what'd happened last night, and Jason was genuinely worried to know what she'd say. The temptation to let it ring, to run for the hills as fast as he could before they all decided he was crazy, was almost dizzying.

“Morning,” he said, when he answered the phone, as if everything was just fine and dandy.

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, and Jason dared to hope it was tinged with relief. “Morning Jay,” Barbara said back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jason felt like he might collapse.

“Rough night?” Barb asked, her voice light, and sympathetic.

“You could say that,” Jason answered, trying not to freak the fuck out. “Barb-”

“Save it. Are you okay?” And god damn it, there was actual concern in her voice. This was the same woman he'd made a literal prop in his vendetta on Batman.

“I'll manage,” Jason said, around the hole where his heart might have once been.

“Okay,” she paused. “Can you come by the clock tower? We've got a-” she paused again, a dead give away that something was very wrong, “situation.”

There were alarm bells going off in his head, and paranoia was staring to gnaw at his fingers. This was Barb, he reminded himself. She might have suspected he took down Black Mask's operation, but now she'd have all the proof she needed to dismiss him as rabid, and lock him away. He'd have to run, he couldn't go back to Arkham, a cage with no fresh air or sunlight. He couldn't do it, he'd rather die. 

On the other hand, she'd invited him to the clock tower, her secret base. Maybe that meant something. The cave had never been an acceptable place for an ambush, as far as Jason knew.

“What kind of a situation?” He asked, wishing he could just trust her without doubt pooling in his gut. Bruce had always said that criminals were a cowardly bunch, and damn did he feel it in that moment.

Barb answered him without a second thought. “Dick didn't report back, and his tracker went offline last night.”

Jason remembered how he'd been able to get into Dick's apartment without any problems the other night, and how choking him out had been moderately easy. The erratic way he'd been looking around the night before would have been concerning, if Jason hadn't been so wound up. He also remembered how Dick's pleas the night before had fallen on uncaring ears.

“Goddamnit!” Jason swore, and let his irritation and anger swell. It was better than the alternative. “He shouldn't have been out there at all!” Which he had said last night, but obviously hadn't been enough to make Dick actually do anything about it.

Barb huffed in good nature, but it was a strained sound. “You're preaching to the choir. Do you know how many times I've told each and everyone of you to slow down? My job would be so much easier if all of you had basic self preservation skills.”

Jason laughed once, but it was a rueful sound. “I'm on my way.” He said instead of answering that question. Barb wouldn't lay this kind of trap. She wouldn't, he was sure of it. She was better than that.

“Thanks Jay,” she said. “See you soon.”

-

In the six months that he'd been stalking Gotham as the Red Hood, Jason had only gone up to the clock tower a handful of times. The times as the Arkham Knight didn't count, but the setting still made him feel out of place and exposed. He didn't belong there and he hadn't been in it enough times to dissuade the more aggressive memories. It was a wonder Barbara even let him in at all.

It was a typical overcast spring day in Gotham, and the light drizzle had made pleasant little rain noises against the hood as Jason left his apartment. Halfway to the clock tower the rain really starting coming down, and was significantly less calming.

When he dropped in from the roof, Barbara was already manning the computers, typing away at something furiously. Jason tried not to shake himself off like a wet dog.

Upon taking off the hood, Jason was met by the combination of smells that the clock tower harbored. There was the acidic scent of Gotham rain soaked into his clothes, but there were the normal smells too; that old paper smell most common in libraries, the faint scent of something sweet and fruity that came from Barbara's hand creams, with an undercurrent of chalk, metal and leather. Every time Jason came, he was able to identify something new. It was like finding another piece in a puzzle. If he came more often, it might even have been a comfort.

“Did you get something to eat?” She asked, her eyes still intent on the screen in front of her. Normally, he'd say that having three monitors in a set up was overkill, but with Barb, she was probably using all three of them. She was the queen of multitasking.

Jason shifted awkwardly, thankful she wasn't actually looking at him. “Picked up something.”

Without even looking, she reached behind her into the backpack hanging off the wheelchair, and pulled out something that she lobbed at him. Jason caught it, and she promptly tossed something else at him. He caught that one too. A banana, and a bottle of vitamin water. “Eat,” she instructed, giving him no room to argue.

A bit of tension eased out of his shoulders. Jason felt a little like a five year old being scolded, but it was a nice, warm feeling. Not that he'd been eating a lot of fresh fruit at five, or had needed anyone to tell him to eat. Back then, eating had still been a joy. 

Having food foisted on him was pretty common for Barb. If it had been anyone else, he never would have let it happen, but it was Barb. As far as he was concerned, she could get away with murder. Not that his opinion in that particular situation would have mattered.

He was halfway through the banana when she turned her chair to face him. She looked concerned, and spent a few seconds just giving him a thorough once over before speaking. Her face didn't give much away, but it could have been the paranoia telling him she didn't like what she saw. “Dick called me last night. He was-” she paused, weighing her word choice, “worried. Are you doing better?”

Jason finished the banana, threw the peel in the small trash can by the main console and took a long swig of the vitamin water before speaking. “Better's relative.” He looked up at her screens. “What's the situation?”

The way the small lines on Barb's face scrunched up was a dead give away she wanted to protest, but she hesitated, then turned back towards the monitors. 

“Dick went off trackers outside of the service entrance of the old Carmine Hotel.” She pulled up images of the location from security cameras. There were a few obnoxious green question marks scribbled out in spray paint, but the real sight were the scraps of wrecked robots scattered around the scene. They were the same kind as the night before. 

If Jason had to guess, there might have been parts from over 20, way more than had been at Staph's office. Dick had gone down fighting. “The cameras were whipped when I got to them, I only have footage before, and after.” That it was an ambush, went unsaid.

“What was he doing there?” Jason asked.

“I was hoping you'd have an answer for that. Robin went to investigate last night, but he didn't find much. It looks like he was defending someone.” Barb said, motioning at the scene on the monitors, there was a noticeable radius of dead space, with the wrecked bots all around it. 

She looked back at him. “The Riddler was expecting us, there wasn't anything useful on the systems from last night. I told Dick to come back here for detox, but you know how thick headed he is. Was there anything, anyone, that would have led him to the Bowery?”

Jason resisted shifting uncomfortably. He remembered most of last night, but he was still coming up with a whole lot of nothing. There weren't any glaring holes in his memory other than the flashback at Stagg. Had something happened then? It hadn't seemed like enough time, but it was possible. He usually kept a written log just in case, but he'd been too exhausted to write anything the night before. Was there something else he'd forgotten, or just completely missed?

“The Bowery isn't the no-mans land it was last year. It could have been anyone,” Jason eventually said. “Or no one. If Tim thinks he was defending someone after looking at the crime scene, he's probably right. It sounds like Dick, but he'd been hallucinating all night. There might not have been anyone there at all, but if Dick thought there was, he wouldn't have backed down.”

Without saying anything else, Barb turned back to the computer. “The Riddler always did like kidnapping as a way of luring us out.”

“Batman,” Jason corrected. “Not us. Only the bat.” Nigma had an unhealthy attraction to Batman, something that many of the Gotham rogues shared. “Are we sure it isn't a copycat? With Batman out of the picture, I can't see Nigma causing this kind of fuss when he could be embezzling funds on the sly.” The robots they'd fought last night had looked almost too human to be something Nigma had designed. The ones he'd used on Halloween were flashy, but the ones he was looking at now were understated and human shaped. There weren't a lot of other crazies into robots in Gotham, but there were a few.

Barb shook her head, pulling up Nigma's file. A familiar mugshot glowered back at them, beside a wall of text. “He was let out on a technicality.” Barb said. “As far as rogues go, he's annoying, and doesn't play well with others. Of all the people they could keep, he wasn't high on the list. It could be him.”

“Doesn't explain his connection to the fear toxin. Nigma wants his opponents as smart as possible, there's no use in drugging them. Besides, he's got an ego the size of Alaska, he'd have already broadcast a location, time limit, and demands to all of Gotham.” Jason shifted before he took another drink of the vitamin water.

“Unless he sent it somewhere else, somewhere more specific.” Barb stated softly, looking down in thought before her hands went flying to the keyboard.

Several rapid fire windows later, a grainy video popped up on the screen. “He sent it to Bruce.” Barb said, annoyed. “Not us, not Batman, Bruce. I didn't even think to check it.”

The time stamp said that it had been sent last night, about two hours after Nightwing's tracker had gone offline. Now this was more Nigma's style, but the fact that no one had even seen the video until now, several hours later, didn't bode well for Dick.

Barb started the grainy video.

“Good Evening and Salutations Dark Knight!” That was Nigma alright, scrawny, and clad in that obnoxious shade of green. “Ah, isn't this nostalgic, me sending you videos and you hiding in the shadows. Thought you'd tricked me did you Brucie? Ah, but I've known for years that you were The Dark Knight! Just like I know that you aren't dead! You may have fooled the rest of the city, but I know. I know you're still alive and kicking, you moronic manchild! We all know you can't stay dead, so I'm going to make your 'revival' easier on you. I have a little bird in a very special cage that might interest you.”

The image changed to a different camera. The new view showed Nightwing unconscious, hanging from ropes that were tied around his wrists. He was swaying, like he was hanging only by the ropes without anything beneath him, and he was definitely down for the count. His head hung down, hair a mass of dark tangles in his face. Even from the poor lighting, Jason could see bruises starting to form on his face and cuts that were oozing blood. The guy had taken out about 20 of those stupid bots, so it made sense that he'd gotten a little beat up in the process. What little they could see of the background was a dark, damp looking wall of stone bricks

“All the way from Bludhaven, it's the much loved prodigal son, Boy Blunder Number 1!” The camera switched again, back to Nigma. “He'll be waiting for you to come set him free on Miagani Island. You know where. In my infinite patience, I'll give you until midnight tomorrow, but be warned, the longer you keep this little bird waiting, the less likely he will be able to fly again!”

The two of them stared in silence for a few moments, as the video ended, Jason uncomfortably wrapping fingers around his wrists without even realizing he was doing it. This was the first time this had happened to one of them since Batman had committed what amounted to ritual suicide by explosives. 

Whereas everyone had wanted the Bat's attention before, with him out of the picture, the whole 'steal the sidekick' thing hadn't been much of a lure. These days, most of Gotham's criminals were more likely to just kill them. Nigma was obviously under the assumption the the Bat really would come to save Nightwing. On one hand, that meant Nightwing was still alive. On the other, it meant that someone was going to have to go and save him, and that Nigma wouldn't be happy when it wasn't the big bad bat.

“Where's Robin?” Jason asked, crossing his arms in front of himself, instead of worrying his wrists. Robin should've been there.

“Work,” Barb's tone was borderline defensive. She leveled him a look that he couldn't quite decipher. “Like the rest of you,” she said it almost like an accusation, “he tends to work himself into exhaustion. I've had to fight him so that he keeps that job. The last thing I need is you telling him where he should be.”

Jason hummed, and found he couldn't even really blame Barb. Tim's civilian ID was still safe, and she likely wanted to keep it that way. “Any progress on the antidote?” Jason asked.

Barb shook her head, and her face was intentionally detached. The look made him anxious. “Another thing I'd rather not talk about.” She looked back at the screen. “From the toxicology we got, Dick's had fear toxin in his system for a long time. He didn't come to us about it until yesterday. He looked bad,” Barb ended simply. “It doesn't give me a lot of confidence on how much longer he'll last. I should have kept him here when I had him, but he was off and running before the results were done.”

Jason wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that first part, but he let it go for now. Just meant they'd have to get at him sooner rather than later. “Riddler doesn't want us coming to the rescue. Not that we're going to listen, but if Bats doesn't show up, he might off N to spite him.” Jason said, considering their options.

Barbara looked up at him. “We need a Batman.”

Jason blinked at her. “No.”

-

“You can pull it off,” Tim said from the doorway, still in his work clothes. As if the statement was any consolation. 

Jason felt like he should just shoot him. If he had just shot Nightwing at the beginning of last night, none of them would be in this situation. That could've been an oversimplification of things, but Jason wasn't going to poke holes in his theory. Instead of shooting his not-really-a-brother, Jason gave him a look. It was weird to see him in normal civilian clothes, polished and professional to stand in front of a pack of brats.

“Shut up and hand me the cowl,” Jason bit. That would be the real test. If it didn't cover up the brand, he might as well make Robin masquerade as Batman instead. Sure, they could lather it in make up if need be, but Jason was already looking for excuses not to do this.

The image of Dick, hanging from ropes tied around his wrists, replayed itself in his mind again. He had to keep remembering how his eyes had wandered all night, and the whimper he'd made as Jason had choked him out. The barely audible plea he'd made for Bruce before losing consciousness the night before, and how he could have left Jason for the GCPD. It was safer to think about that, than the conversation that had taken place before they got to Staph Enterprise.

Jason remembered being stuck in a room for days, weeks, months, over a year. Ropes cutting into his wrists as he hung, before being cut down so that Joker could sear the brand on his cheek. His face itched, and his gut writhed.

He didn't have to like it, but he had to do it. Just because Batman hadn't come for him, didn't mean he would leave Dick. Sure, the Riddler wouldn't keep Dick for over a year – he wasn't that much of a monster – but he'd tried to blow Selina's head off, and Jason had no illusions that he would try something just as violent to Dick if Batman didn't show.

Tim walked across the room, and picked up the cowl from it's display, and handed it over. Jason had wanted to rage when he first walked into the room and saw the suit in a glass case, a disgusting mockery of the case that had once held his costume in the Batcave. Wisely, there'd been no epitaph.

The cowl slipped on like a second skin, tighter and more confining than his hood had ever felt, and Jason heard it latch in the back. Tim stepped right up to him, as if personal boundaries weren't a thing, and looked him over. He pursed his lips, and nodded. 

“Yeah, you'll pass. We'll just say the explosion shaved off a few pounds.” Tim obviously expected some quib or smart ass remark after that. When it didn't come, he shifted on his feet. “In case anyone asks.”

Jason made a disgusted sound deep in his throat. “The question on my mind, is why you have a bat suit that has two inch heels.” He said, already having a pretty good idea why.

Tim shrugged one shoulder, and looked suddenly tired. He'd never noticed it as the Arkham Knight, but now it was there almost every time he saw Tim without the mask. Robin was eternal, but the people behind the mask rarely had the same vibrancy. Other than Dick, but on that note, he'd looked like shit last night too. Maybe it was his memories playing tricks with him after all. 

This time, whatever was bothering Tim might not have been anything new, but the world always seemed to weigh heavy on his shoulders. It reminded Jason of Bruce. He could see why Barb worried. 

“I had to make it myself. Blew up most of my spare suits too.” Tim said it offhandedly, like it didn't mean anything.

“Probably wanted Robin to burn with him.” Jason said, not bothering to keep the spite out of his voice. Nightwing might have been the only one who'd gotten a free pass to keep doing vigilante work from good old Bats, but he'd also lost his anonymity when Bruce had. Any villain with a brain could look at Richard Grayson, Wayne adoptee and former aerialist, and see Nightwing as clearly as if it had been tattooed on his forehead. Barbara and Tim weren't close to Bruce publicly, and Jason was still legally dead.

“Maybe,” Tim admitted, and walked around one of the nearby tables, loosening his tie. When he stopped, the table was between them, so they could look at one another and the menagerie of gadgets and utility belts laid out in front of them. Tim started going through the equipment, placing them in pockets so that Jason could watch where they went. 

“You were 13 when he made you Robin?” It was rhetorical. Tim didn't look up at him, shook his head. He kept fiddling with the gear. “I teach kids around that age. It's too young.”

“Says my replacement.” Jason responded, anger starting to bubble up inside of him.

Tim gave him a look that might have been pity. “Don't misunderstand. You were good, amazing, but he had no right to put you in that kind of danger.”

“I made my own choices.” Jason grit out, about ready to reach over and strangle him. “Don't you dare make this about Bruce.”

Tim steadied his hands on the table, eyes strangely unreadable. “When isn't it about Bruce?” His tone was rueful, but the look in his eyes was steel, and Jason felt the fight that was coming. 

Then it was over. Tim shook his head. “You're right,” he conceded, before going back to working on the belt. “Now's not the time.” He put a few more odds and ends in, before picking it up.

In a few simple strides, Tim walked around the table, slipped the belt around Jason's waist, and clicked it shut. The motion was so seamless, that Jason didn't even have time to be annoyed as Tim's hands brushed his waist, but he damn well bristled after Tim's hands were gone. 

He felt cheated, a selfish little part of him wanted to goad Tim into doing this instead of him, wanted to piss him off so that Tim would chase him away and he'd never have to come back. The thought made him feel like a moron, which sadly didn't improve his mood.

“You should have everything you'd need.” Tim looked up at him. It was strange to be taller than him. With Dick it was liberating, because he actually was just a hair taller. With Tim, it was different, and it mattered that it wasn't actually Jason's height to blame for it. “I'll be keeping a close eye on you. Nigma's smart, but he's not expecting me. He'll probably think I'm in the suit, or that Batman came alone. None of the rogues know we're associated yet. You run through whatever tests he has, and I'll work on getting Dick out. Don't-”

“Don't run my mouth. It'll be a dead give away that I'm not the Bat.” Tim was still standing close. Too close. Jason wanted him to move. When he didn't Jason took a step back himself. “I got it. Basic sense of humor is a bird thing.”

Tim took a step back too, looking him over from the bottom up. When he'd reached Jason's face, he stopped, eyes hard, but otherwise difficult to decode. “You don't have to do this, Jason. I know Babs conned you into it, but you don't.”

“I don't see you in the batsuit,” Jason sneered.

Tim didn't even blink. “Babs is afraid when I put it on, it's not coming off.”

“She should be.” Jason closed the distance, getting into Tim's face. It was easier with the cowl on then he had expected. “You're the most normal of the set. Bruce was right to give you the busy work and keep you off the streets, and Dick shouldn't be off playing hero in Bludhaven. You've got an actual job, a degree, a trust fund, and a wife that loves you. What the hell right do you have to be doing this shit? All you've got is a bleeding heart, so don't go telling me what to do. Back off, Drake.”

Tim did. He took a step back, but his eyes were unnervingly even. Riling up Tim Drake was as hard as ever. “Jason, if you're gonna run, or lose it, now's the time. Your temper is a problem. Once we're in, I need to rely on you to keep it together. If you can't do that you'll pull all of us down. A team is as strong as its weakest member. If you can't pull your weight, I'll put the suit on instead.”

“I said, back off,” Jason growled. “Or should I say, ‘Stand down, Robin!’” He was surprised at the instant reaction that got out of Tim. Jason never thought he'd be able to mirror Batman's tone, but there was the proof. Tim's shoulders squared, and he stepped out of Jason's way.

Tim looked down at the ground for a few moments while Jason walked past him, but he looked like he was anticipating ten steps ahead. Jason wasn't sure if that was a relief or not. “You sound like him.” Tim said as he passed.

“No, you do.” Jason spit back. “Suit up Robin.” It was almost 6 in the evening, too early for Batman to be out, but they'd wasted enough time prepping, and then waiting for Tim to get off work. They were going to get Dick out, one way or another.

-

It was still raining hard as Jason came out of the tunnels that snaked under the city. The batsuit was waterproof, and helped with visibility, but pounding rain still made the Cyrus Pinkney Orphanage ominous in the gloom.

The replacement had been traveling around the underground a lot since Batman's disappearance, while Red Hood had taken the streets and rooftops. Being underground in close quarters made him edgy and hot headed, so he instinctively went for options with more open air. Jason would have taken to the skies tonight too, but Robin had given him a look, and he'd be damned if any of his stupid issues were going to keep him from doing anything. At least while Robin was watching. He could freak out on his own time.

Working different angles hadn't been planned, but it'd worked out anyway. The city at large didn't know they were associated, and that was better. Someone paying attention would just think the Red Hood had come to fill the power vacuum Batman had left behind. Robin did most of his work unseen, slinking around in the shadows like a true bat, and there were rumors Robin had gone up in flames too. Bruce had always done his level best to keep Jason and Tim firmly on the sidelines in his war on crime, so it made sense few people knew much about Robin. Dick had been the exception of course, and the citizenry were almost desperate to get Nightwing back on Gotham's streets.

“It's seen better days,” Robin said over the comms, bringing Jason out of his own thoughts. It was strange to have him in Jason's ear. The talk between them had been minimal before splitting up, but now separated, Robin obviously felt the need to fill the silence more than expected. Probably more like wanting to keep an eye on him.

He was right of course, the Cyrus Pinkney Orphanage had seen better days. It hadn't gotten much funding to rebuild after last Halloween, and was a shell of its former self. For now, that was better, the last thing Jason needed was for kids to get involved in this mess. 

Jason remembered despising the place when he was growing up. He'd worked hard to stay out of it, but there was none of the familiar loathing when he looked at it now. He just felt empty. 

What would his life have been like if he'd been dumped here? _Damned if you do, damned if you don't._ Seemed to be an accurate description of his life. Robin had been everything to him, and it was impossible to consider what would have happened to him without it.

It went against every instinct Jason had to just walk in the front door. “I don't see any traps,” Oracle said, as if sensing his hesitation. “Be careful.”

“I'm close, if you need backup.” Robin chimed in.

The comments irritated him, but it still eased his nerves a bit. Being Batman for a night meant he had Tim and Barb at his beck and call, and if nothing else, he was sure he could rely on them to help rescue Dick. It might even have been nice, if Tim hadn't been a jackass about it. He knew he had problems, but he didn't need the replacement shoving it in his goddamned face.

Waltzing in the front door was pretty damn stupid if they were dealing with anyone else, but they were playing Nigma's game, and he tended to fight relatively fair. Or as fair as rogues got. Sure, he was a coward, but he didn't cheat until he knew he was losing.

Jason walked in.

The entryway was just as sad and decrepit has he remembered it, a small space with only two doors, one leading back out, and another further in. Once upon a time the building had probably looked impressive both inside and out, but that time had come and gone. The place was caked in dirt and dust, with cobwebs in the corners, warped wood floors, and dripping. Nigma would pick a semi condemned building, and it would be his luck that it would be on a day when the rain was really coming down. 

There was a variety of green spray-painted question marks, both old and new all over the place, and it smelled like mold, paint, decay and damp wood. Jason wanted to turn around right there, but he could hear Tim calling him unreliable and a fucking runner, and that was enough motivation to keep going. He was the goddamn Batman. For the night anyway.

At least it didn't smell like Arkham, he told himself. Not much smelled as bad as Arkham.

He fought down the sense of claustrophobia by reminding himself that the Cyrus Pinkney Orphanage was actually huge, and it was stupid to feel trapped in it. The thought made him wonder if he'd always been a little claustrophobic, or if that was just another present he'd gotten from the Joker.

He could do this, he was the fucking Red Hood.

The minute Jason opened the door, and walked into the foyer, he could see an image projected on an otherwise vacant wall further in. It was Nightwing, in the same basic position they'd seen him this morning, but this time he was awake.

He was belting out 'Let it Go' in the most obnoxious voice Jason had ever heard.

There was a moment, where Jason's brain didn't quite comprehend what he was hearing. In his ear, Oracle snorted, and Robin groaned. Even with the rain, it was strange he hadn't heard the singing from outside. Was the building soundproofed? Jason tried to ignore that thought.

Dick was normally a decent singer, but he was obviously doing his level best to sing as bad as possible. Amid Nightwing's less than stellar performance, Jason could hear Nigma cursing in the background.

“What do you want to bet that N's been making Nigma miserable ever since he woke up?” Oracle asked, humor in her voice.

“He always told me to just conserve energy.” Robin said, sounding slightly amused, but Jason detected a hint of worry.

The memory came unbidden, the even look in Dick's eyes, the gentle, reassuring smile on his lips, his hip carelessly listing to one side, and a warm hand on Jason's shoulder. He could hear Dick's voice in his head, warm and bossy; _In a hostage situation, it's best to just wait it out. Conserve your energy, and don't piss off your captors too much. That way, when one of us gets there, you'll be able to do everything you can to help._ He couldn't remember Nightwing ever actually following that advice. There'd been no part of that lesson about a rescue never coming.

Being Dick Grayson also seemed to mean that he couldn't just hang there like a normal person, because Nightwing was actually swinging from side to side. In the grainy video they'd seen earlier, he'd been hanging from ropes around his wrists. Now, he was holding onto a pair of what looked like gymnastic rings. The ropes were still there, but they didn't seem to be doing anything, other than connecting him to the rings. It was a strange set up, but hardly the weirdest he'd seen. Sometimes, these 'kidnap the sidekick' things got really elaborate; Nigma tended to be one of the worst for that.

“I should have dropped you hours ago!” Nigma hissed over the intercom, as Jason walked into what must have been the main hall of the orphanage. Nightwing seemed unperturbed, and kept singing.

Suddenly the image of Nightwing disappeared, and in its place was projected a feed of Nigma. It was actually funny how annoyed he looked. 

“Dark Knight!” Nigma yelled. “You've kept me waiting for too long! I'm tempted to just off your screeching bird and be done with it!” He looked genuinely upset about the whole situation, and though Jason couldn't see Dick anymore, he could still hear his off key singing in the distance. It mingled with the rain pounding on the orphanage's structure. It might have sounded ominous in any other situation, but Jason was working too hard to fight down a smile. Batman didn't smile, so Jason absolutely couldn't. Leave it to Dick Grayson to annoy the hell out of anyone who had the misfortune of kidnapping him, advice be damned.

“What do you want, Nigma?” Jason grit out, the voice modulator making him sound even more like Batman.

Something clicked. The singing stopped.

Nigma actually sighed in relief. “That is much better!” His eyes were off to the side, before his gaze turned back towards the camera. “Riddle me this, Dark Knight. What's black and blue, and easily chopped into little messy bits? The answer is, Nightwing, should you fail the tests I've prepared for you!”

The image switched to Nightwing again, but this time he looked more intent then before. He was unnervingly still. Without the motion, Jason could see just how exhausted he looked. Dick's healthy bronze skin looked pale and ashy, enough to make him look like a ghost in that dark suit, and he was absolutely covered in sweat. Any other signs of exhaustion were well hidden, but for those to be showing, Nightwing had to be in a bad state. 

Jason also noted that he wasn't wet, just damp from sweat. Nightwing must have been hanging there since the video had been sent yesterday, since it'd been raining almost all day.

“As you can see, I've prepared a very special cage for your most beloved son. I've given him a nice pair of gymnastic rings, perfect for the casual enthusiast.” The angle of the video moved upwards, so that the rings in question were displayed more prominently. “But these are a very special pair! One of them is being charged with an electrical current, and the other is grounding it. By keeping a firm hold on both, our little bird is negating the electricity coursing through him! But which is which? If he lets go, he's got a fifty fifty chance of becoming a fried bird!” Nigma snickered, like a bad guy on a kids show.

The camera angle changed again, scrolling down. As he'd originally thought, there was no floor beneath Nightwing, but there were three circular saws. Jason had a good idea where this was going. 

“Now that you've gone to the trouble of showing up, let's make things interesting!” The saws started to spin. “As time goes by, the blades will get closer and closer to your first Boy Blunder, and he'll be forced to pull himself higher up on the rings to escape them, so keep in mind Dark Knight, you're on a time limit! Unless of course he loses his grip, and then it's bye bye birdie!”

The image changed back to the Riddler, but Jason noted that he hadn't seen any water dripping when the camera has been on Nightwing. “Now, Dark Knight, for today's entertainment, I've prepared three tests for you. Completing the first will disable the electrical current running through the rings. The second, will disable the saws, and allow him to join you. But wait, why should you stay for a third test, when you've already saved your wayward bird? I'll spell it for you in simple terms, Batman!

“First, I pose to you a quandary. Why hasn't Scarecrow recovered from being injected with fear toxin? As I'm sure you already know, he's currently more of a scarecrow than ever! Was that in bad taste? I digress. I thought at first that your little Robin simply hadn't administered the proper antidote to Crane, but upon further inspection, I found that all reports were to the contrary. Crane was given the fear toxin antidote that Robin has so generously disseminated to the GCPD and various hospitals around the city.

“Alas, my research led simply to more questions, as research is want to do. It was a puzzle I couldn't help wanting to solve! As it turns out, Crane's latest batch of fear toxin is much more interesting than the hallucinogenic I always assumed it to be. In fact, it's a self perpetuating virus that attacks the brain, inducing hallucinations and chemical imbalances in the brain. Here's the kicker, the longer it stays unchecked, the harder it is to purge, and the more likely it is to result in permanent brain damage. In Crane's case, by the time your bird boy administered the antidote, it was far too late to have any effect. If you hadn't left your little birdies on their own, you might know that, or been able to prevent it.”

Nigma cleared his throat. “Well, Dark Knight, your favorite son might not look it, but he is quite doused in a special brand of fear toxin of my own design! Dear little Robin took three weeks to make his own antidote to Crane's brand. Plenty of time to get it to good old enterprising Stagg, but considering the dose he was given, it wasn't fast enough for Crane, and there's no way you'll be able to create a new one before the damage on Nightwing is permanent. But, should you complete all three of my tests, I'll give you the antidote. If, you don't cheat!”

“We're totally going to cheat.” Robin said in Jason's ear, and god was he glad. Someone needed to comically make light of this situation, since Jason couldn't. There was something like bile in his throat, and he hoped it made him look constipated enough to keep up the act. This wouldn't have made Batman sick to his stomach. 

Barb's words from earlier came back to him. _How long he'll last_ , she'd said. The statement was starting to make more sense.

“See what happens when you abandon your responsibilities, Dark Knight? When you try to walk away from these games we play? There is no retirement! I am going to best you!” Nigma hissed, before taking a deep breath and composing himself. “Head upstairs, Dark Knight. Your first test awaits! And do keep in mind your time limits. It would be such a shame to fail another sidekick.” Nigma leered at him ominously for a few seconds, before the feed went completely dead. 

Jason had hoped that Nigma would put the camera back on Nightwing, but it was probably better he hadn't. The more Jason looked at Nightwing, the more likely he was to try and look for signs that Nigma was lying, that _permanent brain damage_ wasn't actually on the goddamned table. They didn't need that, Nightwing had to be rescued as soon as possible.

“I'll work on getting the antidote,” Robin said in his ear. It was enough confirmation that Riddler wasn't lying. Jason didn't respond, he didn't think he'd be able to keep pretending to be Batman if he let himself say anything. He was getting angry that they'd left him in the dark about this. It was easier to be angry, than to let the numbness take over, but even that'd have to wait.

“Stairs are to your right.” Oracle said. “I'm hacking into the surveillance now. Give me a few minutes. Once we find out where both N and the Riddler are, we'll work on getting N out of there, and the Riddler behind bars.” 

For now, he'd have to play along. Nigma usually played fair right up until the end, when he got frustrated about losing. At that point, all bets would be off on what he'd do. They'd need to have Dick, and the antidote out of his hands by then, or things would get even uglier.

-

The test wasn't on the second floor, but the fourth. Nigma had helpfully painted arrows and obnoxious phrases on the walls to help direct him to the staircases, which weren't all in the same place. He'd been scanning the orphanage almost nonstop since Nigma stopped blabbing, but he hadn't caught any signs of life. 

Jason was going to be pissed as shit if either Nightwing or the Riddler were somewhere else. He'd noticed a few small screens in different rooms, but upon inspection they hadn't done anything, so he'd made a note of where they were, and kept going. By the time Jason actually got to the fourth floor, he was downright angry.

The whole situation made him more anxious than he wanted to admit, but now that he was given some time to stew, his temper had started to take over. It was much easier to be mad about everything, and that gave the nervous energy something to focus on. 

Why the hell hadn't he been told about the fear toxin by either Barb or Tim? They'd made sure he had some of the antidote, but they'd never told him the details. Had Dick known? It was one thing to leave Jason out – as much as it annoyed him, he was a variable some days, he could admit that, even if it stung – it was another entirely to leave Nightwing out of the loop. 

What had Nightwing been doing on the streets doused in fear toxin for who knows how long, and how could he have let it get that bad without coming for help? The most obvious answer was that he hadn't known the risks, and just assumed it would work itself out of his system. Most of Scarecrow's older formulas had. 

On the other hand, how had Tim and Barb not noticed? The whole situation was a colossal fuck up, and to top it all off, here he was in a goddamn Batsuit, saving some jackass that couldn't even take care of himself. And Tim had accused _him_ of being unable to work on a fucking team.

All of this could have been avoided if they'd just fucking talked to one another, and that probably pissed him off the most. Dick was taking on too much on his own, following in Bruce's bullshit lone wolf footsteps. Barb was running the situation like she and Bruce had; information was on a need to know basis, and teamwork was limited to whoever she was dealing with that night. Barb and Tim were handling things like a unit, not a group. Years of circling around Bruce had encouraged this mindset, and without Alfred to do all of the leg work of keeping everyone informed and on point, it made sense that they were tripping all over each other.

And there he was, completely out of the loop, and dragged into this situation because he'd sought out Dick Grayson on his own. By some twisted sense of irony, he'd been the one to show up at Dick's apartment, and set this whole thing in motion, but it'd been a ticking time bomb. It would have gone off no matter who had found it. Jason hoped he wouldn't regret those four days that he'd hesitated, but someone else should have noticed first, should have picked up the slack. 

He distinctly remembered what Dick had said the night before, what he'd repeated.

_You came to me!_

It hadn't struck him at the time but now he would have been ill if he hadn't been so damn angry about it.

There was work to be done, and he could focus on that, but when they were out of this, there was going to be hell to pay on every end of the spectrum. He hadn't learned how to lead a whole fucking militia just to watch bat operations go this badly.

At some point in the ascent, Nightwing had started singing again. He couldn't hear what song it was, but jarring notes hung in the air from time to time, mucking up the almost soothing sound the rain made as it came down. By the time he'd reached the fourth floor, Jason had realized the sound was coming from cleverly hidden speakers, increasing the possibility that Nightwing really might not be there. It only added to his temper, since he couldn't fucking find him. He had to get Dick out of this, then he could be as pissed and angry at him as he wanted.

“Go ahead with the puzzle, his surveillance is harder to crack then I expected.” Oracle buzzed in his ear, but he ignored her.

Jason turned once he'd grappled up the last set of stairs. Spread out in front of him was a wide array of small glowing green screens on the floor. They were small enough that they'd only support one foot, not two, and there were 100 of them, ten by ten. As he walked closer, they flickered between different shades of green, before changing uniformly into question marks.

Scrawled across the far wall, in the same green spray-paint that Nigma seemed to love, was a riddle. Underneath it, was a panel of 12 screens, noticeably blank. Since reading said riddle for himself wasn't enough, as he stepped closer, Nigma's voice came on over head. “I'm under your face, I'm outside your mind; a biological case. What am I?” The recording stopped for five seconds, before the question rang out again. It was on a loop. Great. That was going to get annoying fast.

With the riddle stated, the screens on the floor came to life, flickering till what almost looked like a word search was laid out in front of him. Each screen had a letter and they all looked randomized. The screens on the wall lit up with green question marks.

“Looks like you'll have to spell it out for him.” Oracle said over the comms, obviously trying to keep the situation light. She might as well have been talking to a wall, Jason was having none of it. 

Knowing Nigma, he'd probably be electrocuted if he didn't pick right, and with the screens so small, he'd have to go hopping around on one leg to do it. Not only might a mistake cost him, he would also look like a fucking moron. Or, more accurately, Batman would look like a fucking moron. That did make him feel a little better.

There was only one of the first letter he needed, off in the far corner, surrounded by other letters, but like a normal word search, the whole answer was there, so once he started, it would be easy to just answer the riddle all at once. The problem with that, was that the letter wasn't on the ends, and it was far enough away that he wasn't positive he could land on it one footed without hitting any of the other panels in the process.

The solution was simple, for a bat.

Above the array were a few holes in the ceiling, likely leading up to a fragile attic. From up there, he'd be able to move around, and break through the attic to fall exactly where he wanted to. Jason grappled up, and as he had thought, from up there, the floor of the attic creaked and groaned beneath him. Just a bit of force would break right through it, and he'd be able to land on the proper letter. Making it even easier, the wood was rotten, and there were parts of it that had warped in the humidity, so he could see through the cracks to the floor below. He'd be able to fall down, hit the first letter, and then get the rest within a couple strides.

It was a good strategy, until Jason broke through the attic, landed on the first screen, and then the second a few moments later. 

Several things happened at once. The second he connected with the first screen, the mantra of the riddle stopped and a confirming 'ding' sounded around the room, like something from an old game show. When he stepped on the second tile, things started to go wrong. Jason saw it just a hair before his foot landed, as the whole set up changed, and the letters randomized. The screen under his second foot wasn't the one he needed anymore. As his foot connected with the wrong letter, there was a loud 'bzzzzt' sound, and Dick's singing, still faint in the background turned into something sharp and distressing, before going silent.

As if Nigma was the principle making announcements over a school intercom, Jason could hear him giggling, but there were no visuals. “Dark Knight, I expected better of you! I'm afraid that any wrong letters will, lengthen, your prodigal son's ropes. Any more mistakes could really hinder those quadruple somersaults!” Nigma ended that statement with a slimy laugh, and Jason grit his teeth at the sound. Fucking villains and their goddamned laughing.

Jason was zip-lining off of the screens as fast as he could. If they changed while he was on them, that'd be another mistake, and he couldn't afford anymore. He'd have to be much more careful. With Nigma's riddle not repeating anymore, and Dick's singing gone, all he could hear was the rain coming down on the old building. It normally would have been a nice sound, but he was too on edge to be anything but annoyed.

Once he had a better understanding of what needed to be done, it was easier to use the grapple to let himself down to touch the right letters, and then zip back up before the letters changed, reposition himself, and do it all again. Rinse and repeat. The off key singing didn't start up again, but every confirmed 'ding' resounded like a shot. His comms were suspiciously silent, and he wondered if Barb and Tim were talking among each other, and leaving him out.

When he'd filled in all the right letters, Jason dropped down again, but this time the screens on the floor were completely blank. Not even the ominous green from before was there. He looked up at the screens on the wall, and found himself looking at another oversized projection of Nigma, more visibly annoyed than he'd been before. “Well done, Dark Knight,” Nigma grit out. “As agreed, the electrical current has been disabled. Your next test awaits downstairs.”

Jason was about to demand to see Nightwing, when the projection flickered. Replacing the larger than life image of Nigma with Nightwing. He was breathing hard, but Jason couldn't hear him anymore. Before, he'd been hanging from the rings, now, he was supporting himself on them. His arms were straight, so that his upper body was above the rings, and only his legs were below it. Jason could see the tension in his limbs, and that was mirrored in the focused, hardened lines of his face. Now that the electricity was disabled, he could let go of the rings, and climb up the ropes, but he wasn't doing that.

“Nightwing, status!” Jason ordered loudly, clinging to the hope that Dick was actually somewhere close, and could hear him. Nightwing didn't even twitch, there was no sign that he could hear him. Nightwing probably was being held somewhere else. The possibility made Jason seethe, it was just another obstacle to getting Dick back safe and sound.

As he was watching, he saw Nightwing raise his legs, so that they were horizontal instead of vertical. It gave him a view of Nightwing's feet, and how one had obviously met with the saws during the earlier mistake. The suit hid most of it, but he could see gaping red slashes in the boot that were dripping blood. 

The faster he got this done, the sooner he could get to Dick.

Without any more delays, Jason ran, using the grapple to get down the stairs in only a few seconds.

“Oracle, status!” Jason demanded, making it as rough and demanding as the Bat would have.

“I've accessed the surveillance, but I still can't find Nightwing. I think Riddler hooked up those cameras to a completely different system. Robin thinks he's off site.” That was enough confirmation that Robin and Oracle had been using a private comm to communicate. He let that go, for now. “Focus on the next test.”

“The second objective?” Meaning the antidote that Robin was suppose to secure on his own.

“No sign. I've combed the security, but I can't find it. Robin's working on it.”

Great, that wasn't what he wanted to hear, but busting Oracle's chops over the comms would take up more time and energy he didn't have. Just something else he'd have to save for later.

-

This time there weren't any arrows to lead him to the next riddle, he'd just been told to go downstairs. It had taken him too long to run through the third floor checking rooms, and then down to the second to find the actual riddle. He'd found more blank screens while investigating, but again, they'd remained dormant. He kept looking. This timed bullshit sucked, and he wanted to put a bullet in Nigma's throat the next time he saw him.

The next riddle was spray painted over a wall in what looked like the communal bedroom of the orphanage. There were little metal bed frames littered around, but they were covered in filth, and what mattresses remained were there because not even the desperate looters would want them. Below the riddle, was a display of 12 blank screens.

Once he stepped into the room, and got a good look at the riddles scrawled across the wall, a recording of Nigma started playing, and the blank screens flashed. Green question marks, again. “I'm the part of the bird that's not in the sky. I can swim in the ocean and yet remain dry. What am I?” This time, the recording didn't loop, and the place fell once again into eerie silence.

To his left, something flickered, catching Jason's eye. There, on it's own, was a lone screen. It was small, like the ones he'd seen upstairs in the glorified word search, and like the ones he'd seen scattered around the other floors. This time, it wasn't blank. On it a was simple letter 'B'.

There were probably more just like it in parts of the building he hadn't searched. Jason was going to have to run around the whole damn place to find the right letters.

Jason tore out of the room. He'd already wasted enough time finding the second riddle. He'd have to work fast. Checking the screens that he'd passed, Jason raced down the hallway. He could feel the tension in him spiking, eating away at what control he had. For now, he'd have to keep it in check. Dick was counting on him, but after this, he was going to explode, and who ever got in his way when it happened was going to be ripped to pieces.

He found an 'S' in one of the stairwells, and pressed his hand to the screen. A 'ding' rang out, proving that his first thought had been right. The letters corresponded to their locations, and needed to be touch activated in order. He grappled up the stairs to the third floor, and found an 'H' at the other end of the hallway. It was up again after that, this time to the attic, where he found an 'A' waiting for him. This time he took an alternate route down, scanning for screens as he went.

He'd combed over the floor plans of the orphanage as Robin, but his brain had chosen that exact moment to go on the fritz, and for the life of him he couldn't remember where anything was. It was taking all of his concentration to stay on task, and not lose his shit. 

“Oracle,” he yelled. Batman would have asked calmly, but he wasn't Batman, and he needed to get this done and get the hell out of this god damn shit hole as soon as possible. “I need a D room!”

“Dining hall,” she answered without even a slight delay.“On the first floor, South of the entryway.” Jason resisted grousing about having to go all the way back down, but the sound that came out of his throat instead was hardly a confirmation. Down three flights of stairs he went, sprinting and using the grapple whenever he could.

Just to exacerbate the situation, Nigma's voice came on over the loudspeaker. “You're taking quite a while to figure it out, Dark Knight. Poor Nightwing is getting a little desperate, must be that fear toxin really starting to pack it's punch. He lasted much longer than I anticipated. Far longer than any of the other test subjects, but I'm sure all that extra strain isn't helping.” Laughing, again with the laughing, and why did it sound like it was the Joker all over again in his head? Jason willed himself away from that. Not now!

Over the intercoms came an almost deafening roar. The sound of the saws. It was more distracting than Jason would have liked to admit, but he grit his teeth and kept going. By the time he was on the first floor again, the noise had started to sound like static buzzing in his ear, or the unnerving crackle of electricity. Once he'd adjusted to the sound, he could still hear the rain. Worse, was that he could faintly hear Dick in the background. He was breathing hard and ragged, and something inside Jason broke into small pieces, when he heard Dick singing 'The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze' to himself. It had always been Dicks go to song when he needed to comfort a scared child. Now, he was singing it to himself, working to keep it steady and even around his jagged breathing.

Just as Oracle had said, the dining room was south of the entryway, and there waiting for him was a glowing 'D'.

“Back up to the third floor,” Oracle said once he'd hit the letter. She sounded just as invested in getting him there and done as he did. In most other situations, it would have been nice, but he was so far away from being comforted by anything that the sentiment went in one ear and out the other. “Use the south stairs, the office is the fifth door on the right.” 

“God damnit!” Jason cursed, but grappled up both flights of stairs, and then sprinted across the hallway to the designated door. Just as Barb had said, there was an 'O' waiting for him in a room clearly marked 'Office'.

The last letter he needed stopped him. The chainsaw was screaming in his ears, making it hard to think, stale air filling his lungs with poison, in the fog that was his head he could hear sobbing and the crackling of laughter. He took a second to just breath, he couldn't- couldn't let himself slip into that place “W- what starts with W?” He asked Oracle, sounding calmer than he felt.

“Water Closet,” Oracle said, “Third floor, north east of your location, second door on the left.”

Jason hauled ass in that direction, bursting into the room only a few moments later. There was no screen. “This isn't it!” He yelled, the frustration bleeding into his voice.

Dick's singing had started to become indistinct jumbles of sound, or whimpers. Jason usually didn't remember the sorts of sounds he'd made back when the Joker had him, but he was starting to.

“There's another one on the first floor,” Oracle said, her voice becoming more harried. “I finally have visuals on N. He needs out of there now!”

“I know!” Jason roared, busting out of the bathroom and into the hallway. He turned to head towards the stairs, and stopped. 

Most of the windows in the place were either boarded up, was so dirty that there wasn't any way to really see outside, or the rain water on the glass made it difficult to see out of. The window next to him, was mostly the same, except for the one panel on the bottom right. It was cracked, and the lower half was gone, giving a small but clear view of the yard behind the orphanage. There, amid overgrown grass and oak trees, was a well.

“Well!” Oracle said, making the same connection he had. Jason was already in action, shouldering his way through the old window into the rain. It was almost liberating to be free of the dusty walls and lingering smells, but he didn't have time to savor it. He dove, then glided to lessen the impact, before dropping down right beside the well, his boots squishing in the mud and grass as he landed.

It was a large, impressive looking well, and if Jason had to guess, it was probably older than the orphanage. What wasn't old, was the complicated looking lid made out of metal clamped over it. Now that he was right here, he could hear the faint sound of the saws, but it had been muffled enough by the rain that hearing it from the building would have been difficult. 

He wondered if Nigma had gone out of his way to board up the windows so that he wouldn't be able to see it sooner. On top of the lid, was a small screen, glistening with beads of rain. A dim glowing 'W' was on it. Jason pressed it, and the violent roaring of the saws slowed, and stopped. Now that he was so close, and those saws weren't ringing in his head, Dick's whimpering and ragged breathing was harder to ignore.

The screen on the well flashed. 'Unlock?' in prompted. Jason eyed it warily, before pressing the 'yes' button. He was ready for some sort of trap, but not much happened. He could hear mechanisms shifting, and then the screen went dead. He reached down, and started moving the lid himself. It was heavy, but that made sense. If it was holding up Nightwing's weight and keeping out the rain, it would have to be. 

Once he could see down into it, he saw Dick looking back up at him, rain splattering on his face as he blinked up. He was holding himself up on the same two gymnastic rings, almost completely upside down. His eyes were blown and terrified.

“Nightwing,” Jason said, his voice even and calm, sounding more like a Robin than Batman. “I'm going to pull you up. Hold on just a little more.” The last thing he'd need was for Nightwing to let go. If he was in his right mind, he never would have just fallen on those saws, but he wasn't and Jason didn't want to risk it. Now that he was looking, Nightwing's arms were alarmingly swollen.

Nightwing didn't answer. “Nightwing, can you hold on just a little longer? Nod yes or no.” Slowly, Nightwing nodded once. Yes. That was enough for Jason, he yanked off the lid completely, and then started pulling him up.

A few moments later, Robin was by his side. They both reached into the well, and pulled Dick out. As soon as he was out, Dick folded himself around Robin, sobbing into his shoulder, and hiding his face. 

He was shivering, but a quick touch to the forehead proved that he was burning up, and the rain wasn't helping. Dick's breathing was shallow, raspy and his arms hung at his sides, swollen, useless and twitching. Jason had no doubt that he'd been hanging from them since he'd been abducted over 12 hours ago, it was amazing that he'd still been able to hold himself up by the time they found him. 

His left foot was a mass of hot, bloody gashes, and he whimpered and buried his head deeper into Robin's shoulder as the rain got at it. The rain was washing it out some, but it was Gotham rain, all that pollution was going to do a number on those open wounds. Jason grabbed a water sealed bandage patch out of the utility belt, and slapped it on over the wound. Anything to keep the rain and mud out would do as a quick fix.

All the while, Robin was murmuring soft comforts to Nightwing, trying to keep him calm. “He's panicking,” Robin said, keeping his tone light. “I can feel his heart ratcheting in his chest.”

“Give him what antidote you have,” Jason said, hoping it would help in some way, “and try to keep him calm. I'll deal with the Riddler.”

“I got the antidote,” Robin said, running his hand gently through Nightwing's hair. “I found the third riddle early on. Oracle was right, it led to somewhere else. I tracked it down, and stole the antidote before the Riddler noticed. He's waiting at the Dixon Docks for Batman with an ambush. I ran the antidote back to Oracle, she's running tests on it now. Hopefully we'll be able to tell if it's genuine. I didn't want to give it to him without checking first.”

“So you were doing something,” Jason said. He meant it to be spiteful, but it came out almost relieved. It felt a little anticlimactic to have the third riddle already answered for him, but he'd only done this to help Dick. Yeah, he wanted to beat the ever loving shit out of Nigma, before putting a bullet in his head, but Dick was with them, and that was more important. He could accept that. He would have given anything to have Batman rescue him.

Jason also knew instinctively that if he went to face Nigma himself, one of them wasn't going to walk away from it. What Tim had said before stuck in his mind, the others had decided to rely on him, and he was trying to be better. Just like with all of his other problems, sometimes that meant keeping himself out of situations where he would explode. 

“Can you take Nigma?” Jason asked. The question felt wrong on his lips, rough and hard to get out, but he'd already done it, and there was no second guessing it. He knew Robin could handle it, had seen how capable he was in a fight, but he didn't want to force it on him either. They could've done it together, like the true dynamic duo, but Nightwing needed to get back to the clock tower. The minute those tests checked out, they were administering that antidote. 

Robin blinked. “You-” He stopped, looked down at Nightwing, and nodded. “I'll handle it.” Robin shifted, easing Nightwing out of the little impression they'd made in the mud, and over to Jason.

The reaction was instantaneous. Nightwing's eyes flew open in terror. He started thrashing violently.

“No! Don't-” Nightwing yelled, and it almost sounded like he was begging. The words were understandable at first, but garbled, as if he had marbles in his mouth, before they went almost completely intelligible. He kept trying to hold onto Robin, but his fingers were still fumbling and ineffective. He started putting up an ineffective fight when Jason started reaching for him, putting himself between Batman and Robin while he struggled.

Something inside Jason turned brittle at the fear and hostility on Nightwing's face. He'd almost believed all of Grayson's crap about wanting to be something, but there was angry, bitter disappointment pooling in his gut. He reminded himself that he hadn't done this to be thanked, but damn did it hurt to be rejected like this, especially after everything Dick had told him the night before. Pretty words. That's just what happened when he was stupid enough to ever believe in other people, especially Dick Grayson, who was so much like Bruce that it burned.

Sensing that something was going to go irrevocably wrong, Robin used that big brain of his, and pointed. “The voice modulator,” Robin said. “He's responding to my voice. Turn if off.”

Jason almost bit off Robin's head, but he followed instructions and turned the voice modulator off. “It's just me. I'm-” dammit all, his fucking voice broke, “I'm not gonna hurt you.”

Nightwing took a sharp breath and stopped struggling. Jason didn't even notice the smug little smile on Robin's face. Some hard, violent thing broke in him as Robin shifted Nightwing so that his weight was now against Jason. 

Nightwing folded around Jason's just like he had with Robin, and there was no way to describe the fluttering in Jason's chest. Dick trusted him. There was a dark part of him that whispered he shouldn't, but Dick did. 

To be treated the same way as Tim, someone Dick trusted explicitly, was- he didn't have a way of expressing it. Even amid the smell of stale sweat on his skin, and the fear that was almost radiating off of Nightwing, something in Jason twisted at the possibility that Dick had been telling the truth. It was a dangerous thought, but with it came the realization of just how desperately Jason wanted it to be true. He wanted _this_ as an option. He thought of Crane, alone in a holding cell, with no one who cared. He'd die alone, unaware of himself, and no one would mourn him. Jason didn't want that, had never wanted that.

Robin stood up, mud splattered all over his boots and knees. He was undeniably pleased with himself and ran a comforting hand through Nightwing's hair. “Keep the comms open,” Jason said, probably harsher than necessary, since he could feel Nightwing shudder in his arms. “No more closed comms. If I'm part of this team, you'd better act like it.”

The smile on Robin's face as he pulled away was the canary that had tricked the cat. Jason felt justified in glowering back at him. “We can do that,” Robin said.

“More than willing,” Oracle chimed in. “Is he doing okay?”

“Hardly,” Robin answered, all business again. “But, it's not all bad. We've got him. Tests on the antidote?”

“Almost done. It looks promising so far, but I don't think we're going to get the kind of conclusive answers we want.”

“I'll get him to you.” Jason tightened his grip on Nightwing, who attempted to bury himself father into Jason's shoulder. “His arms and legs will need medical attention, but we'll work on that when we get there.”

Robin nodded. “If I need backup with the Riddler, you'll know.” Then he was gone, grappling away in the direction of Bleake Island. Knowing Robin, he'd be able to spring a trap on Riddler, instead of the other way around. It was probably better that way.

With Nightwing in his arms, the adrenaline was just bleeding out of Jason, and exhaustion had started to set in. He couldn't tell which of them was trembling more. He'd blame Dick. Jason took a few moments to just run his hand over Nightwing's back to try and comfort him, but the attempt made him feel strange and awkward. At least no one else was watching, he guessed. He'd been Robin once, so he knew how this was supposed to go, but it was completely different when it was an inconsolable Nightwing in his arms. He had calmed some, but he was still shaking and crying.

It took more effort than Jason would have admitted to just get up, especially with Nightwing so insistently nestled into him, but with enough finagling, Jason had them both on their feet. Then it was just a matter of getting Nightwing to walk, and not slip in the muddy grass.

They ended up in the human crutch hold again, but this time he was him holding up Nightwing. It was a strange parallel from just the night before, hitting Jason with a dizzying sense of deja vu. 

Last night, he'd discounted everything Nightwing had said, now it almost made him hopeful. There was still the hesitation, that part of him that couldn't believe he hadn't learned his lesson, and that once again he was setting himself up for disappointment. It was hard to ignore the voice in his head, that said to abandon them, before they abandoned him. But that voice was getting softer, less insistent. 

The counter argument in his head, was thinking how difficult it would have been to lose Dick. How losing Bruce had ripped him to pieces. He'd lost Bruce twice, and knew he never wanted to go through that again, but despite all his issues, he wasn't alone anymore. He had Barb, Dick, and maybe Tim, if only he was willing to try. It was impossible to love and not lose, especially in their line of work, but with Nightwing slotted beside him, it was suddenly easy to see that caring might not be a mistake. 

His years as Robin had been the best of his life, and even with how it'd ended, there were remnants of that vibrant, beautiful time if he was only willing to reach for them.

“The cycles on the way,” Oracle reported, pulling Jason out of his own head. He answered with a quick 'thanks' before maneuvering Nightwing to start walking. They didn't currently have a batmobile, Bruce hadn't left them any spares, so the cycles were all they still had. He was going to have to make sure he kept a very good hold on Nightwing as they rode.

Jason was more focused on keeping them moving and not slipping, so it was Nightwing that noticed the person in front of them first. Even drugged out of his mind, Nightwing tensed, and tried to push Jason behind him. Sadly, the attempt only resulted in an almost pathetic display of flailing, and an even harder time for Jason, who was trying to keep them both upright. Jason was cursing under his breath, trying to keep them going, until he looked around Nightwing's thrashing shoulders, and froze.

Bruce was standing in front of them.


	4. Chapter 4

Nightwing was panicking. His heart was beating too fast, and he'd started squirming so much that it was difficult for Jason to keep a hold of him. The rain and mud were not helping, and the injury to Nightwing's leg made him even more unstable. 

Jason noticed, but these things were part of his periphery senses. It was disturbingly easy to just react unconsciously, to file those concerns away and not even think about them.

Bruce was in front of him. He was standing there, just as drenched as they were. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't blown himself, Alfred, the manor sky high six months ago. They'd had a goddamn funeral. Wasn't that just typical. Bruce would do it like that too, on a dark and rainy night, as if coming back from the dead was a minor sleight of hand he didn't expect to get much reaction.

There had been a part of Jason that knew Bruce wasn't dead, but he'd been too busy avoiding all thoughts of it and trying to get his own issues in order. That same part of him was currently screaming warnings in his head, but his mind was surprisingly blank, white noise was buzzing in his hears, drowning out everything else.

Jason felt like that scruffy scholarship kid, looking up at Bruce Wayne for the first time. That same sense of wonder and weakness churned in his gut, eating away at everything else.

“Jason,” Bruce said, taking a step forward. If it hadn't been for Nightwing trying to push at him, Jason would have taken a step back, but the fact that Nightwing was freaking out had to take precedent. He focused on that to help him out of this fuzzy little world, where only He and Bruce existed. They had to get Dick to Barb. The job always needed to come first.

He took a stronger hold of Nightwing, trying to forcefully stop his flailing, but Nightwing wasn't having it. He kept muttering what sounded like 'no,' but it came out in a garble that barely resembled the word. His other pleas were even harder to make out, and Jason's brain simply filed them away as nonsense. 

Even though he was fighting, Nightwing was exhausted, and Jason could feel it in every stuttered utterance, and failed attempt to get away. It was like two nights ago all over again, but this time, Jason didn't dare choke him out. “We haven't got time for this, old man.” Jason bit out. “N needs to get to Oracle.”

Bruce walked forward, his face slicked with rain and unreadable. Nightwing started struggling harder, his pleas turning into jagged desperate screaming as Bruce laid a hand on Nightwing's waist. 

“I came as fast as I could. I'll get Dick to Oracle. Go look after Robin.” It was hard to ignore how Nightwing desperately tried to put more distance between them and Bruce, but his feet kept losing traction in the mud, and Jason had to catch him, or else he would have just fallen down. Even after almost falling, he was still firmly planted between them, trying to shove at Jason to move. It was a feeble effort at best.

“Dick, fight it.” Bruce commanded, and even drugged to the gills, Nightwing stilled. Bruce closed the distance between them, and Nightwing tried to grab at Jason's shoulders, but couldn't manage to get his fingers to work.

“I'm not done with you,” Jason said, as he let Bruce take Nightwing from him. It felt like a mistake. “If you cut and run again, I will hunt you down.” Jason warned. The look in Bruce's eyes at the comment was almost warm.

“I'm counting on it, Jason.”

Jason looked Bruce over, before turning to leave. He was already a few paces away, when Nightwing started fighting again, yelling and sputtering in anger. Jason looked back. He'd put enough distance between them that the darkness and the rain obscured his sight a little, but he could still see pretty well. 

The hold Bruce had on Nightwing was firm, and it looked almost bruising, but Nightwing was angry and struggling. Keeping a hold of someone like Dick, who was a damn contortionist, was hard, especially when he didn't want to be caged. If he hadn't been drugged out of his mind, Jason wasn't even sure Bruce could have done it. Pragmatically, Bruce's firm hold made sense.

Nightwing's hands were still swollen and useless after holding himself up for so long, and were fumbling, clawing at Bruce's hands trying to break free while he twisted and struggled. If it had been any other situation, Nightwing probably would have been free already, but his arms were too injured, and his coordination was shot. Hell, he couldn't even form rational words anymore, and if Nightwing couldn't talk, something was wrong, but what really stuck out in Jason's mind the most, was how Nightwing kept looking at him. Jason's name was on his lips, amid the struggling gasps that broke down into exhausted stuttering stops. Nightwing couldn't call out to him, but it was there, a garbled, emotional plea. Bruce's hand was on the back of Nightwing's neck, his grip rigid.

“Why are you here?” Jason asked.

“Robin can't take the Riddler on his own. He'll need your help,” Bruce urged. 

His hold tightened. Nightwing went rigid, then limp in Bruce's arms. A nerve strike? Bruce's arm was wrapped around Nightwing's waist, holding him firmly against his broad chest. Bruce'd been expecting it, since he accommodated Nightwing's limp form without too much trouble. Batman would have made it look effortless.

“No,” Jason said, scrutinizing Bruce's face. “Batman always prioritizes the villain. It's Robin that looks after the victim.”

“You're Batman now,” and Bruce said it with such simple logic that Jason almost faltered.

Jason squared his shoulders, and stalked back, closing the distance rapidly. “You keep the cowl. I'll make sure N's safe.”

Bruce took a step back just as Jason was within reaching distance. Nightwing's feet dragged on the ground, leaving parallel ruts in the mud. In one fluid motion there was a handgun in Jason's face, and Nightwing was out of reach as Bruce backed away. 

“I don't think so, Jason.” The look that crackled over Bruce's face was predatory. Not even on his worst days, had Bruce ever looked like that. 

Nightwing had known.

“Let me guess,” Jason said, rolling his shoulders. “Clayface?” Jason asked, mostly to be obnoxious.

'Bruce' almost looked insulted. “Would Clayface have gone to all this trouble?” Maybe. Hard to tell for sure, but he wasn't this smart. He had an eye for the theatrics, but if this went back as far as Jason thought, it couldn't be him.

“Hush,” Jason conceded, “also known as Thomas Elliot, Bruce's good old best friend for-never. Did I win the booby prize?”

Hush didn't look concerned, or even annoyed. It was amazing how one moment, he could so easily mimic Bruce's stone faced nonchalance, and in the next instant, it was so obvious that he was a fake. 

“You were always a cocky brat. At those parties, when you'd sneer at anyone that looked at you, there was always some quib. This one-” Hush jostled Nightwing, his head lolling to one side, and water dripping off of his hair, “-liked the attention, but you always needed to prove just how clever you were. Must be rough, coming from the gutter, and having to prove yourself from the other shit at every turn. Even digging that bullet out of your chest didn't improve you much. Most patients are more appreciative when a good doctor saves their life. Who knew Bruce's little stray was right under Arkham the whole time?”

That explained one thing, Jason figured. 

He could take this kind of banter, this psychoanalyst bullshit that some villains liked to pull. He could do this, because Hush was the piece of shit that had climbed out of the gutter, not him. He could do it, this wasn't the Joker, but it was hard to tell his anger to just keep itself in check as his temperature started to rise.

“Tommy, can I call you Tommy? Hate to break it to you, but you were never a 'good doctor'.” The air quotes were entirely necessary. “Good doctors don't get shipped off to Arkham with the crazies.”

The glare Jason got for that comment was totally worth it. “Oh son,” and he made the word sound vile, because it was Bruce's fucking voice. “I'm the best.” Hush took a few more steps back, looking to put distance between them. He was a manipulator, not a fighter, never had been, so distance would only help him if push came to shove. Jason had no intention of letting him get far.

A well placed batarang, or even a rush would have effectively distracted Hush enough for Jason to close the distance between them, and snatch up Nightwing, but Hush seemed to anticipate his plan. That vindictive smile spread across his face, and he turned the gun on Nightwing, shoving the glistening barrel point blank to the side of his head, forcing Nightwing's neck to curve at an odd angle. 

Hush flicked off the safety. “Not so fast. I don't want to just shoot him, that'd be anticlimactic, so let's avoid the mess. I'm already going to have to get the suit dry cleaned. Keep your distance.”

For now, Jason did. “So, I'm sure you're just dying to let me know all about your evil scheme. Villains are much more talkative with a gun in their hand for some reason.”

“You'd know, wouldn't you, Jason? Or should I call you the Arkham Knight?” Jason gave no indicator that his heart was racing, and rage was flowing through his veins. His face was a careful blank mask. 

“Don't look so surprised, you still move the same, and though you're less maniacal, I can see the violent, vicious tendencies a mile away. The minute you took off that hood in Grayson's apartment, I knew exactly who you were.” Now that Jason thought of it, Barb hadn't specified how long Dick had been on fear toxin. How long had his apartment been compromised? It was hard to forget how easy getting in the other night had been. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, other than to think wingding was a colossal moron.

Was it possible Dick had kept Tim and Barb away intentionally? Hush took a step back, and Jason chanced a step towards him.

“I'll take dirty secrets and blackmail attempts for two hundred.”

If Hush was at all annoyed by the off hand comment, or intended to follow up on the implication, it didn't show. Instead, he smiled, and it was one of the nicer things he could have done with Bruce's face. It was horrid. 

“It's hard to hide that J, isn't it? I'm sure it makes having a civilian ID difficult, probably why you're still legally dead. It would be a shame if your new start had, complications.” Hush shrugged, but kept the gun firmly at Nightwing's head as he took another step back. Jason stood his ground this time. “In fact, a good surgeon could easily make that brand go away. No more itching, no more looking at your reflection in disgust.”

“You sound like a bad infomercial. Did you practice that in the mirror to get the slimy smile just right, or does it come to you naturally?” Jason asked, squaring his shoulders. “And by the way, I'd rather not be under your knife. You don't exactly come highly recommended these days.” 

He was Batman, which meant he was playing a very different game then the Red Hood would. Distance was his ally as the Hood, but that wasn't always the case with Batman. He would have loved to have one of his guns on him at that moment. It would have made offing Hush so much easier.

Hush ignored his comment, but he went for a different tactic. “I'm sure Bruce was surprised; his lost little Robin, back from the dead, toting guns and terrorizing the city. What changed your mind, Jason? Did he reach out to you, tell you that together you'd be able to make everything okay again?” Hush laughed, as if he was remembering some trivial amusement. “He had a way of doing that. Good old Bruce, always ready with the second chances, but the aftercare was always where he had no skill. Always wanted to fix the things right in front of him, but he was too single minded to juggle. Bet he left you hanging, didn't he?” The shrug that fell off of Hush's shoulders was casual. A minor annoyance.

Hush took another step back, the mud squishing under him. “Yet here you are, playing Batman for him, trying to be good. Looking after the little birds and bats he left behind.”

This time, Hush cocked his head down, his eyes as blue and hard as Bruce's had been. It was concerning how easy it was for him to just turn it on or off, to look just like Bruce, and then be someone completely different. “But I know who you are.”

Jason wanted desperately to make him stop talking, to beat Hush into submission, but he kept looking at Nightwing, and realizing that for now, his hands were tied. A smoke pellet might have worked, but with Nightwing still in danger, it had a good chance of backfiring. Hush was going to fuck up, he just had to wait for the opening, and keep his temper in check till then.

The bob of Hush's head was an acknowledgment, the sort of thing that a friend would do to another on the street, and it made Jason's skin crawl. “Inside, you're rotten. You've never cared about anyone but yourself, and you never will. You're the same kid that would have put a bullet in the Joker's head if the Bat hadn't stopped you. He remembered you. When he found out you were Robin, he laughed for days, knew you were perfect for what he wanted.” 

One more step backward, and as if saying his name was a spell, Jason could hear the laughter in his head again, could feel cold fingers on his skin. Not now! He couldn't do this now! He focused on Nightwing and Hush. The Joker was dead. Dick Grayson and Thomas fucking Elliot.

“You're playing at being something you're not, trying to fill daddy's shoes. Let me give you a word of advice. Stop trying. Some people are just born bad. You know that.” Hush took another step back.

“Bruce left you to die, picked you up off the streets like a scruffy little dog, and took you home, but once you weren't useful anymore, he abandoned you. I know what you're thinking, you want to be the good son, to really earn your place. Well let me tell you a secret, it's not worth it. Let's look at Dickie here,” He shifted Nightwing again, swinging him around like a rag doll.

“What has he got to show for it,” Hush pushed the gun more firmly to Nightwing's head, “working so hard to be the son Bruce wanted. No inheritance, a shitty apartment, and a phone that hasn't rung in the past month. No job, no prospects, only the crusade, the one thing Bruce ever gave him, and even that is eating away at his brain as I speak. He's lost, there's no future for him. If it wasn't me putting him out of his misery, it would be someone else.” 

As if to emphasize his point, Hush let Nightwing fall, only keeping a hold of one of his arms, while the rest of him crumpled to the ground. The mud and grass splashing all over the blue and black of his uniform, caking on his waist and thighs. Hush held up the one arm, jostling Nighting around like an over sized doll. The gun was still firmly focused on Nightwing.

“But you?” Hush asked, and then shook his head. “No, you know when to walk away. That's why you don't play nice with the others. You could leave all of this behind. There's nothing you love but yourself. Every person is an inconvenience and it's so fucking hard to give a shit. They all want you to care, but you're empty. You've tried, but it's a waste. They all just keep letting you down. Accept who you are, and who you will never be. That kid that Bruce picked up, the one you thought could be a hero? He never existed. You just needed the Joker to make you believe it.” Hush took another step back, dragging Nightwing with him.

“Walk away Jason. You can't save him, and even if you could, he's not worth it.”

Nightwing's eyes fluttered.

All hell broke loose.

Nightwing broke free like lighting, Hush's grip hadn't been strong enough. With a roar Nightwing swung up, kicking Hush in the head, throwing his whole weight into the attack. Hush went down like a sack of bricks. 

A batarang flew from one of the nearby trees, lodging itself in Hush's other hand, making him lose his grip on the gun while Nightwing went in for the attack. He straddled Hush in a few swift movements. Yelling in anger, Nightwing rained hits down on him, reminiscent of the night before, when Jason had been the one on his back. From the tree where the batarang had come from, Robin dropped down to the ground.

“The gun!” Robin said, before running over to try and pull Nightwing off of Hush with little success.

Said gun was still close, and Hush was straining to try and reach it when Jason snagged it instead. As Robin somehow managed to pull a still thrashing Nightwing off of Hush, Jason stepped in between them, and pointed the gun at Hush's forehead. What once had been Bruce's face, was now a mass of mud and blood. Nightwing had done a number on him, and was still screaming in rage from where Robin had dragged him back. From the sound of the struggle, Robin was having a hard time holding him back.

Even with his precious face a mess, Hush chuckled up at him, the sound wet and guttural. “That kid's done for,” Hush said, angling his eyes over at Nightwing with satisfaction on his face. “Bruce's last legacy, a raving lunatic. Then there's you. The murderer. Go on, prove that you're a waste of whatever time Bruce spent trying to 'reform' you. Prove he was wrong.”

God did he want to. He wanted to smear this filth's brains all over the ground, or shoot him in the throat and watch him bleed to death. He didn't want to make it quick, he wanted it to hurt, to watch him suffer. “Doesn't look like you're winning this one, Tommy.”

“I've already won. There is no antidote. Nigma wanted to make one, because he's soft, but I sabotaged it. Bruce is gone, and if he isn't, he'll live knowing what I did to loyal Dickie.” That sickening smile, so like and dissimilar to Bruce at the same time, spread over Elliot's face. “And then there's you. I didn't need to do anything about that.”

Jason's hands were around Hush's neck in an instant. 

“This isn't about Bruce!” Jason roared, slamming his head into the ground. “We're not props! You can't just ruin us to spite him!” He could smell the spit and grime on Elliot, the blood running down his face with the rain and mud mixing in his hair. Just a little bit more pressure, and he'd break one of the small bones in Elliot's neck. He could do it. It would be easy, and it was so tempting to just be done with it.

“You're lying,” Jason grit out instead. There had to be an antidote. They couldn't have gone through all this trouble to still lose Dick. “You're a sad pathetic lizard, and you don't deserve to live.”

The last thing Hush said before going under, was, “Neither do you.”

-

“He's alive,” Robin said, retracting his hand from Thomas Elliot's throat.

“He'd be a lot deader if I wanted it.” Which was a lie, because Jason sort of really wanted him dead. If he thought about it more, killing Hush made absolute sense, but he tried not to think about it.

Robin wisely said nothing, but Jason could feel eyes on him as he turned his back. Nightwing was leaning against one of the oak trees, off to the side. He'd calmed down since attacking Hush, or maybe it was more accurate to say that he'd spent most of the energy he had. With his breathing ragged, hands still twitching, mud and grass caked all over him, he looked a mess.

As Jason stepped closer, Nightwing looked up at him, and there was another flash of panic. “It's just me,” Jason said. 

Nightwing relaxed, and closed his eyes. It hadn't been him, or even the voice modulator Nightwing had feared when they pulled him out of the well. It had been the suit. Hush had implied he'd been watching Dick for at least a month. There were still a lot of questions Jason wanted answered, but parts of it were starting to make sense. How long had Dick been under the influence of fear toxin? Was it the whole month like Hush had implied? There were too many variables, but Hush's voice was stuck in his head, saying it was too late, and that the antidote was a fake.

Once Jason was within reach, Nightwing lifted one of his arms up at him, but the fingers wouldn't move right, and even that small movement looked like it hurt. Jason saved him the trouble, and sat down next to him. 

Nightwing put his head on Jason's shoulder, and started crying. Hoping that Dick wouldn't remember this, Jason gave into the impulse to loop his arm around Nightwing's shoulder, and whispered soft threats of all the things he'd do if Nightwing didn't recover. He smelled like sweat and blood, but that was offset by the smell of the grass and mud caked all over him, so Jason didn't instinctively find it repulsive. It was a strange mix, but he could handle it.

Jason watched as Robin made a quick call to the GCPD, and then dragged Hush over to a different tree and tied him up. He should have helped, he knew that, but Nightwing had settled into his side, and Jason didn't want to dislodge him yet. Even if things went wrong, he would have this moment, and somehow, that was important to him. Jason wanted it to last a little longer.

The crux in the whole encounter, was that Hush had gotten it wrong. Jason cared too much, that had always been the problem. 

When he'd become the Arkham Knight, he'd wanted to be the raging monster that Hush claimed he was, but it hadn't worked. He'd done horrible things, things he was never going to deserve forgiveness for, but he was still trying, even when some days it felt hopeless. There was a scared part of him that didn't want to care, that knew by caring, he was giving them the power to hurt him again.

The part that ached, was that Hush had been right about Bruce. Jason had trusted him, again, despite everything, and Bruce had just left it all behind. Jason had been forced to make his new life alone, again. But this time, he didn't have the goal, the same drive. He'd tried to find it, but it just wasn't there in front of him anymore. Bruce was gone. Jason had gotten what he wanted, only to realize he'd never wanted it at all.

What he was missing, what he really wanted again, was acceptance, and a future that wasn't mired in filth. Somehow that had gotten mixed up in his head. He'd chased the cause, because he could do that, knew how. Letting the others close after Bruce had left him again, was harder. Barb had eased into it delicately, and at some point Tim had done the same, but when Dick had chased him down, had tried to force the situation, Jason had panicked. There was no other word for it. 

In a way, it had felt so similar to Bruce, Dick coming to find him, trying to extend his hand so that Jason could take it. Bruce hadn't deserved that second chance, and in his head, that meant Dick hadn't either. Last night he'd left Nightwing behind without a word, but now, with him shivering and sobbing at his side, it was hard for Jason to admit he still wanted to stay away, even if the thought of admitting it was horrifying to consider. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to take that hand last night, but now, he wanted to try. He wanted to believe Dick hadn't been lying to him.

 _When isn't it about Bruce?_ Tim had asked the question earlier, and Jason was starting to realize that on his own, he'd always made it about Bruce.

Hush had done this to get back at Bruce, but Jason had done this for Dick. Bruce hadn't factored into his decision to don the Batsuit at all. It was a strange thing to realize, but Jason knew what it was like to be scared and alone. He'd never needed Bruce to know that. 

Maybe Jason needed to stop making everything about Bruce.

-

They were on the motorcycles, half way back to the clock tower when Oracle contacted them. “It's real.” She said, like a gunshot in silence. “It's the antidote, I'm positive.”

“The test was conclusive?” Robin asked, suspicion in his voice.

The breathy sound that came over the comms was enough of an answer all on it's own. “I am 98% sure it is. The data doesn't match up completely, but it's enough that it should have an effect on him.” 2% doubt was good enough for most people, but it was too much for Batwork. Bruce had always demanded a higher level of accuracy.

Robin didn't respond to her statement directly, instead saying, “we're en route, ETA is 6 minutes.” It sounded clinical, and distant. If he believed Oracle, it didn't show. 

Jason was torn between hope, and the knowledge that hope had never gotten him anywhere. Nightwing had stopped sobbing, and had fallen into soft whimpers. His fingers still weren't working completely, but he was able to keep a feeble, twitching hold around Jason's waist. That was good, it made it easier for him to cling to Jason on the cycle, without Jason having to worry he would fall off. Still, most of the ride he spent driving one handed, with the other firmly holding onto one of Nightwing's arms.

The first time they'd met, when Dick had taken him for a ride on his motorcycle, Jason had wanted so badly for Dick to be sitting behind him, to be someone Dick could trust, and that Jason could trust in turn. 

It made him sick to think that he'd finally gotten his wish. Just last night, it had been him holding onto Dick. Questions he wouldn't have dared to ask last night were burning in his head. Why hadn't he asked for help from anyone? Had he really suffered through a fear toxined haze for a month? Would Jason really be able to apologize for the malicious things he'd said? What other things had Dick kept in that shoe box under his bed? Was he going to get the chance to tell Dick that being his younger brother hadn't been all bad? Would he even have the guts to try?

Jason flipped his comm off, making a decision right there. “You told me you'd leave if I told you to,” Jason said. “So you have to stay.”

There was no sign that Nightwing heard him at all.

-

Barb already had a medical cot out when they got there, but Dick didn't want to go anywhere near it. He kept trying to hold onto Jason, and was only capable of it using mostly his arms and not his hands. The whining noises he made every time they tried to coax him were pathetic, and sad. Jason was just thankful he wasn't crying anymore, and they eventually just let him drift into the darkest corner of the room, pulling Jason along with him. 

Blood was starting to leak out of the makeshift patch Jason had put over Dick's foot, but he didn't seem inclined to get off of it at all. When offered a chair, Dick had once again refused, so for now, they were just letting him be.

“Leslie's on the way,” Barb said, looking at how shaky Dick was on his feet, “but we shouldn't wait until she gets here.” If Jason wasn't feeling so empty, he probably would have felt the same way. It was like every emotion he was capable of having had been bled out of him. 

As is, he was surprised at how much mud they'd tracked into the clock tower. It was going to be a chore to clean. The earthy scent of it mixed with the rain and made the place smell like they were outside. Dick still smelled like blood, but the ride had helped get rid of the stench of sweat. Jason still itched for his hood to cancel out the smell, or better yet a cigarette to give him just a bit more energy to stave off the exhaustion biting at his ankles.

It was strange to have Dick was hiding behind him. Gone were the flashes he'd seen earlier, where Dick had actively put himself between whoever he was holding onto, and the danger he had perceived. It was a concerning change in behavior, and Jason couldn't tell if it meant he felt safer in the clock tower, or if he was just losing more of his ability to think. His hold was starting to lax, his cheeks were puffy from crying, and his eyes, when Jason dared to look back at him, were worryingly vacant.

“We need to wait for Leslie, let her run a full check on him before we put anything strange in his bloodstream. His arms and leg need to be checked over, and I'd rather she be on hand in case he goes into shock, or has a seizure.” Tim said, making a point not to look at Jason and Dick.

“He needs this now. If something goes wrong, Leslie will deal with it when she gets here.” Barb said. A needle filled with the antidote sat in her lap.

Tim just looked tired, and it was more obvious with his mask off. “Babs, we don't know enough. We don't know exactly how long it's been in his system, how quickly it's working, or even if the antidote is real. We can't take what villains say at face value, and we don't have the medical equipment or expertise to save him if something goes wrong.”

“If we don't do anything, we're going to lose him anyway. Look at him, Tim. He can barely stand on his own. The damage that's already been done might too much as is.”

“He's having trouble standing because his foot is all slashed up, and he won't let us get at it. A sedative is a much better idea then whatever is in that antidote-”

“We're wasting time.” Jason said, interrupting. Barb looked like she was ready to keep arguing with her husband, but turned to face Jason. “Dick waited for the fear toxin to wear off. It didn't, so we know that much is at least true, and from how you both are talking about it, what Nigma said about Crane is true too.” In any other situation, it would have pissed him off when neither of them disputed that, but this wasn't just any situation. They didn't even seem apologetic for keeping him in the dark. He was too exhausted and hollow to care. 

Jason went on. “You ran your tests on the antidote, and according to our tech, there's a high chance of it being legit. So we give him the antidote, and hope for the best. It's better than doing nothing.”

“Sorry Tim, that's two to one.” Barb said, eyeing her husband before looking over at Jason. “It's not a monarchy here anymore.” The argument Tim might have made died there, and he snapped his mouth shut. Jason noted that he still looked uneasy. The couple looked at each other, having one of those creepy unspoken conversations, before Tim looked away.

Barb wheeling herself over to Dick and Jason. Still looking displeased about the situation, Tim followed behind her. She reached over, and laced her fingers with Dick's. He didn't seem to mind the contact. She swiftly worked off his glove, which was a lot harder since his hands and arms were still swollen from the strain they'd been put through. 

Once it was off, she handed it to Tim. “Sorry, Dick,” she said, rubbing his hand and arm soothingly. With the glove off, it was blatantly obvious just how red and bloated they were.

“Hold on,” Tim said, and Barb looked over at him. Out of one of the small compartments on the glove, Tim had pulled out a slip of paper. He unfolded it, and then read the contents. “Carmine Hotel. -B”

Jason wrinkled up his nose. “From Hush, probably,” Jason said glaring at the piece of paper as if it had offended him personally. “So Hush lured him there, under the guise of Bruce, and then had him ambushed by Riddler's bots?”

“Looks like it,” Tim said. He looked over at Jason again. “How drugged was he the other night?”

Jason motioned at Dick now, who still seemed fine with Barb holding his hand. “Drugged enough to mistake Hush for Bruce? Possibly. Hallucinations, palpitations, scattered thoughts, difficulty remembering things. It looked like his leg was hurt all night, but I never saw any signs of an actual injury. He wasn't jumping at shadows, but it didn't look like he was seeing well either. It came and went, there were bouts of complete lucidity, typically in a fight or when he had an obvious objective. Other than that, he was shaky.”

“We can talk about this later,” Barb said, eyeing them both. “Or just ask him when he's feeling better.” She rubbed Dick's hand gently once more, before she stuck the needle in his arm, and injected the antidote.

Dick screamed.

He tried to push her away, but Jason and Tim were on him in an instant, trying to keep him from thrashing, and Barb was backing her chair up. His movements got more erratic, less like someone trying to struggle, and more like the first time Jason had seen a homeless man with epilepsy. His scream changed from something scared and wounded, into a horrible gurgling sound.

“And this is the seizure I was worried about!” Tim hissed. “Get him on the ground, on his side so he doesn't choke himself!” Jason almost bit back that he knew what to do about a god damned seizure, but forwent that in favor of actually doing something about it. 

What should have been a rather easy order to carry out, was made increasingly difficult with the shaking and thrashing that had seized Dick, but they eventually got him down. The whole thing probably didn't last for more than two minutes, but it seemed much longer. Watching Dick spasm on the ground was unnatural.

When he stopped, Tim moved in quickly, checking his breathing and pulse. Jason kept a steadying hand on Dick's back, running his fingers over Dick's shoulders. Barb, still a little bit away, started giving orders.

“Jason, would you get the pillow and blanket from the cot?” She asked, motioning towards it. Without answering her, Jason got up and retrieved them, slipping the pillow under Dick's head when Tim held it up. He then spread out the blanket, and draped it over Dick. The floor wasn't an ideal place for him, but it was probably better than the cot if he had another seizure.

“When will we know it's working?” Jason asked quietly, sitting down next to Dick again. He hadn't woken back up, and was still shivering even with the blanket on.

Tim ran a hand through Dick's hair, weighing his words before he spoke. “We won't,” he said finally. “If it's as bad as we think, he was going to slip into a coma regardless. There isn't any research about this. All of the subjects in Crane's trials died early on. The only cases we have of survivors are he and Stagg, one which made a full recovery, while the other didn't. Not to mention, Stagg only breathed some of the fear toxin in, where as Crane was injected with several vials full right into his bloodstream. There are too many variables. We don't even know how advanced it is in Dick, or how it was administered. We just don't know. Leslie might have a better idea of what to do, but my guess is she's going to tell us to keep checking his vitals. We'll just have to keep an eye on him, and hope he wakes up.”

That sounded like a shit plan, but Jason kept that to himself. Now that Dick was completely out, Tim went to work getting him cleaned up, and his leg bandaged. Jason helped here and there, mostly getting the suit off of him, but he saw Tim and Barb eyeing each other like they wanted to have one of those private conversations that they were so famous for. It annoyed him, but he was too tired to deal with their shit.

Without a word, Jason got up and went downstairs to change out of the batsuit. He'd spent too much time in it, and now that there wasn't a need, having it still on was stifling, and uncomfortable. The lovebirds wanting to have a spat also provided him a great excuse not to just change in front of them. He didn't need them seeing all of his scars, and getting that stupid, pitying look in their eyes.

It was surprising he still had enough energy to care.

-

Tim and Barb wanted Dick to go to Leslie's clinic, but Leslie flat out refused. She didn't have the necessary equipment or staff to keep a consistent eye on him. The clock tower didn't have all of the fancy medical equipment that the cave had, and by handing over all of his assets to Lucius, Bruce had in a way attempted to keep Tim and Barb from serious vigilante work after his death. 

Drake money was nothing to scoff at, but it didn't rival the kind of money Bruce had. The sort of expenses they'd need to keep that equipment on hand and up to date wouldn't have been as easy to hide either. There'd been a fund left in Dick's name, should he need anything, but in the six months since Bruce's death, Dick hadn't even touched it. Whereas they would have been able to keep Dick in the cave under Alfred's careful watch, they didn't have the equipment or expertise to keep Dick in the clock tower.

In the discussion that ensued, there was more cursing than he would have expected, but Jason kept out of it. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing to say on the matter. Jason was seated next to the cot where they'd moved Dick once Leslie had said it was unlikely he'd have another seizure, and he wasn't sure if he'd be willing to move from the spot.

He was so tired, and before he knew it, he'd fallen asleep amid their arguments.

-

When Jason next opened his eyes, he blinked, and then was promptly on his feet, reaching for a gun that wasn't there. The chair he'd been in clattered to the floor, a blanket that had been draped over him going with it and Jason's heart was agonizing in his chest before he realized that he was in the clock tower.

It wasn't a good way to start the day, and he couldn't just turn off the tension in his body. He couldn't even wake up without freaking the fuck out. 

He took a few deep breaths, and counted to ten, then did it backwards. The smell of the clock tower helped, wrapping around him, and reminding him that he was somewhere safe, even though his lizard brain had panicked. The scent of the mud was gone, replaced by the kind of cleaning product that advertised smelling 'fresh'. Of the cleaners he knew on the market, it wasn't a bad choice, but he was hungry, needed a damn smoke, and wanted to punch something, so where as the scent didn't hurt his mood, neither did it help. His mouth tasted like ash.

Barb was at the computers, but she'd backed up and was looking at him instead of whatever she had been working on. Dick and Tim were nowhere to be seen.

“We didn't want to move you.” She said, as Jason noticed the blanket he'd dislodged when he sprang up. It was green. “I didn't think waking you was a good idea. It looked like you needed the sleep.” He could hear the soft sounds of Barbara wheeling over towards him. 

Shame prickled at his face. She'd seen him freak out over nothing, and he had to fight not to shift anxiously. Jason instead stared her down, daring her to say anything about it. She didn't. “We moved Dick to Gotham General. Tim's with him now.”

Jason opened his mouth, and then stopped. He knew what he wanted to ask, but had no idea how to say it without sounding- wrong. He also didn't trust his voice not to split and crackle on him like something brittle. Water, and then a smoke, he amended in his head.

Barb was close enough now that he could smell her fruity hand creams. It was nice, calming in a way. “He hasn't woken up, though he's responding to contact. CAT scans show that the damage is worse than we'd hoped, but they're optimistic. He's scheduled to have another CAT scan in a couple hours. If the antidote is taking effect, we should be able to see it.”

Jason shifted, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling stupid. “How long was I out?”

The smile that came to Barb's face was small, and kinder than he deserved. “ About six hours. Looks like you need more though.” She stopped that line of conversation when he glared at her. “I need a ride down there,” she said instead. “You willing to drive?”

“Sure,” Jason stuttered. Barbara's ability to understand moronic vigilantes was practically legendary, but that never stopped Jason from being surprised. Of course she'd know he wanted to go down there, but hadn't known how to just say so, or justify it. Also, hospitals. “Yeah- Okay. We can go.” Jason felt like his tongue was three times its normal size, and that intelligent thought was beyond him.

Barb smiled. “Give me just a sec.” She wheeled back over to the computer, and started typing. Jason stood there, awkwardly waiting while she finished up what she was doing. For lack of anything better to do he reached down, and righted the chair he'd knocked over. The blanket was next. He folded it, placing it on the chair when he was done. It smelled like apples, of all things.

Jason was considering going downstairs to get a quick smoke in before they left, and lamenting the lack of a shower, when a thought occurred to him. He scowled at nothing. “The Riddler. Did we really just...not show up last night?” The whole experience seemed surreal at best.

Light laughter bubbled out of Barb's mouth at the question, which was probably a good sign. “He was unamused. Robin went out after Leslie left, with a small grade EMP. It took out all of Riddler's machines, so Robin basically just cuffed him and walked him to the GCPD.” Barb said, still typing away. “Not nearly as dramatic as the rest of our night, but Tim's always been on the more efficient side of things. Leslie went in the ambulance with Dick to the hospital.”

“Oh,” Jason said, mostly to just fill in the silence. If he'd been feeling better, he probably would have been able to come up with a witty response, but his head was still a fog, so that would have to be enough for now.

“You did good last night.” Barb said, not looking at him. He had a swell of affection for her, because she knew that he would have probably bolted if she'd just flat out said that to his face. With her looking somewhere else, it was easier to accept the statement. “Regardless of how things go with Dick, you got him out of there.”

Silence filled the room. Jason had the distinct urge to disregard the praise, or just brush it off, but he knew that wouldn't have been right either. 

“No,” he said finally, after several minutes of silence. “We got him out of there.” He let that statement linger for a bit, liking how it felt on his tongue, the acknowledgment that they had done it together. It felt good. 

Then he had to go and ruin it, cause that's just what Jason Todd did. He ruined things.

“But he wouldn't have been there in the first place if we'd started working together sooner. If he'd been communicating with you and Tim, you would've noticed the symptoms earlier. That should've been what happened. When Dick started falling behind, we should have noticed, and picked up the slack.” It might have sounded like a condemnation, but it was just a simple stating of the facts. 

If even Jason had noticed something was up in Bludhaven, Tim and Barb had no excuse. Bruce had never drilled team work into them, unless it was in a fight and it was glaringly obvious that it wasn't something they had picked up after his death.

Barb finished what she was typing, and turned to look at him. Jason wasn't sure what he expected to see on her face. Maybe anger, or reproach, but when she looked at him, her expression was neither of those things. All the hard edges on her face were gone.

“You're right. All of this probably could have been avoided. When it was Batman, all operations revolved around him. All information too. Sometimes it feels like we lost our center of gravity. For Gotham, things have been relatively quiet, and I've been so worried about Tim turning into Bruce that I haven't prioritized a lot else. Dick just sort of, dropped off. It wasn't even strange behavior for him. When Dick gets scared, he always wants to move, start over somewhere new. For a guy so open about some things, he runs from his own emotions a lot. We kept expecting to hear that he'd moved to Chicago, or New York or something. We were starting on our own, and it's been, rough. We butt heads. A lot. Figured no news was good news. If he'd asked for help, we would have given it in a heartbeat, but that doesn't matter now.” Barb looked ruefully at a corner of the room. It was the same corner where she kept her Batgirl suit hid away. She shook her head.

“And you,” she gestured to him, her hand open, like she didn't know what to do with it. There was a growing sense of dread in his stomach. This was the table turning he'd expected, been dreading for weeks. 

“You've been all over the place. You've lost weight every time I see you, you don't seem to have a civilian identity or people to talk to, you're out there every night on your own, and we never know if you're going to disappear on us. Bruce would've just smoked out all of your fox holes, and kept an eye on them, but we didn't want to do that. It would have just pushed you farther away. Dick wanted to make contact with you months ago, but I thought he'd scare you off. You know how he is, he's got the best of intentions, but he can be a bit much, and you two used to fight like cats and dogs.” Something pleasant washed over her face for just a moment, before she looked up at him again, her gaze intent.

“We're worried, Jason. We're so lucky to have you back, but we can't push you. You've had so many decisions stolen from you, and I don't want to take any more away. We want you in this family, Jason. Not Robin or the Red Hood. You. But I'm not sure if that's who you still want to be.”

“That doesn't change anything,” Jason said, going on the defensive. It was easier than actually trying to deal with what she'd told him. “Our teamwork was shoddy at best last night. I didn't even know Tim was going to get the antidote until it was done. That's bullshit! You and Tim just do whatever the hell you want, and don't inform any of us about it. Dick and I should have known about the fear toxin the minute you knew how serious it was. Don't go bringing up my failings like it's the only problem here!”

“It's not, and that's not what I meant.” Barb's gaze was still intent, but it had started to take on a sharpness to it that Jason knew to fear. “I know there's problems to fix, and that our communication and teamwork needs to be better. What I'm say, is I, all of us, want you to be part of that.”

“Are you seriously asking me to fix your god damn problems!?”

“No,” Barb barked, her features hard for just a moment, before she smoothed them out. “Jason, I want us to do it together. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“Why-” would they ever want him? But it felt like flaying himself alive to say that. Committing it to words was impossible, especially in that traitorous, sad little jagged voice that wormed its way out of his throat.

“We do, Jason.” Barb gently reaching over to take his hand in hers. They were calloused, warm, and strong. This close he could tell they smelled like coconut. “We haven't done enough to prove it to you, and god knows you've got every right never to give us a second thought, but we do, Jason. We want you.”

His eyes were wet, and the brand on his cheek itched. He scrubbed at his face with the hand Barb wasn't holding, and then covered his eyes so that she wouldn't have to look at him. “Okay,” he choked out. It felt like something inside of him was breaking.

-

When they arrived at the hospital, after Barb had consented to a quick trip back to his apartment for basic amenities (such as a shower, a snack, and a much appreciated tooth brushing), Tim was asleep in the empty bed next to Dick's. 

The private room was spacious, clinical and clean. It smelled like bleach, mixed in with the scent of flowers that came from a vase on the bedside table. The combination was unpleasant, the two strong smells were fighting for dominance in his head, meshing into some acidic hybrid. All in all, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.

Jason wanted to jump out the window. 

The fact that they were on the 12th floor, and he'd had to take a fucking elevator to get there hadn't helped anything.

The itching on his cheek had gotten worse, and he had to fight every instinct to cover it or pick at it. He had his hands firmly in his pockets, so that no one could see them shaking. This wasn't the first time he'd been in a proper hospital since escaping the Joker, but he'd gone out of his way to avoid them like the plague. 

He'd thought about just dropping Barb off, and not going in himself, but it felt like a cowardly thing to do. At the moment, he was berating himself for being like this. A normal person could walk into a god damned hospital, and not feel like they were going to hyperventilate or have a panic attack as the walls closed in on them.

Tim must have heard them come in, because he started to rouse when Jason closed the door, but Jason hardly noticed. The second the door was closed behind him, Jason was walking across the room to get at the window. It was locked, which wasn't at all surprising, but within a few seconds Jason had jimmied it. Fuck hospital policy.

Fresh air, or at least as fresh as Gotham air ever got. It was sort of a mockery compared to the places in South America he'd been in, but it was still home, and it was nice to have Gotham air in his system instead of stale recycled hospital air. It made him feel less caged.

He eyed a smoke detector in the corner of the room, and considered tampering with it or just damning the consequences of getting caught, but then Tim was standing next to him, and his attention was drawn away.

“I think he's gonna be okay,” Tim said, motioning with his head in Dick's direction. The sleep had done wonders on Tim, he looked crisp and refreshed. Jason wondered if this was what school teacher Tim looked like in the light of day. It was like looking at a completely different person. 

“He responds to touch,” Tim continued, giving no indication that he'd noticed Jason eyeing him, “and knows that it's us when we talk. I was talking to him earlier, and he mouthed my name. Those are all good signs.”

Jason hadn't even looked at Dick since walking in the room, and didn't that make him a horrible person. His gut reaction had been to make this place at least bearable first, which said a lot he didn't want to admit about himself. If Tim or Barb thought any less of him, they didn't show it.

He'd expected Dick to look small and fragile on the bed, but once he combed his eyes over him, Jason could see why Tim was convinced he was going to be okay. He didn't look small, or fragile. Yes, the bed dwarfed him, but his skin was regaining it's bronze hew, and his breathing was steady and even. It looked like he was sleeping.

“Tim,” Barb said, “why don't you and Jason go out and get a bit of fresh air. Jason looks like he needs a smoke, and there's a diner across the street that looks like it's got good pancakes.”

With an easy out in sight, Jason had no intentions of letting it go to waste. Jason was already headed toward the door when Tim said, “I'll pick something up for you.” 

It only occurred to him on the elevator down, that he was voluntarily going somewhere alone with Tim 'Ace-Detective' Drake. 

Fuck his life.

-

It actually was a nice diner, clean and everything, and it wasn't crowded. There were a few customers on the other side of the dining area, but the place Tim had picked to sit was nice and isolated. It smelled good too, like fresh bacon, chicken fried steak, and milkshakes. That still didn't mean Jason was going to eat anything. Just because the dining area was clean, didn't mean shit about the back, so while Tim got two meals to go, Jason ordered only a bottle of water.

Tim gave him 'the look' but didn't say anything about it. That was best, he was too high strung at the moment to take it with anything resembling grace.

“Barb said you handled Nigma last night.” Jason said, mostly because he didn't have anything else to say, and had wisely decided not to mention the fact that Tim had practically chugged his first cup of coffee.

Tim shrugged one shoulder, and gave a smug smile. “I told you we'd cheat.”

Jason scoffed. “Guess that's one way to put it.” It was probably better. He'd almost killed Hush, and the Riddler wouldn't have fared any better. They still might find the business end of one of his gun barrel if Dick didn't pull through. 

Tim was much more level headed then he was, then Dick too. Even if Jason wouldn't admit it, Tim always seemed like the safest bet of the three, less temper and bluster, coupled with the patience that Robin 1 and 2 lacked.

“You didn't kill Elliot last night.” Tim said, his face completely blank. His voice was low so that it wouldn't carry, but it still shattered what sense of calm Jason had put together after leaving the hospital. “I thought you might.”

“And what would you have done about it?” Jason sneered back, because he couldn't just let things sit, had to always poke and prod and antagonize, and if Tim wanted to go there while Jason was trying to play nice, then Jason was going to take the fight right to him.

“I don't know.” Tim took another long drink of his coffee, and then motioned the waitress over to fill it again. Jason watched her warily as she refilled the cup, and walked away, but Tim spoke again before Jason did. “It's a complicated question.”

“No, it isn't. If I had, you'd have dragged me kicking and screaming down to the GCPD before getting Dick that antidote.” Jason narrowed his eyes, and grinned viciously. “Or at least you would have tried.” Tim didn't seem riled by his statement, but he didn't deny it either. He took another sip of his coffee. 

“These things are rarely as clear cut as we want them to be,” he said, swirling the liquid a little. Almost absentmindedly, Tim picked up a spoon, and put it in the cup, but he hadn't put any cream or milk into his coffee so he just swirled it a few times meaninglessly before letting it rest inside the cup.

“Let's pose a hypothetical scenario, that should help you understand my concerns. Let's say that an innocent man is convicted of murder, and sent to prison.” On the side of the table, was a little ceramic cup full of sweetener packets. With a wave of Tim's hand, he plucked a little yellow packet from the cup, and put it on the table in front of them.

“While in prison, he is constantly exposed to violence-” Tim ripped some of the sides, poked at it with the knife and fork on the table, and pulled the spoon out of his coffee to dab at the packet. Then he tossed it around a few times for extra effect before letting it drop onto the table. 

To add insult to injury, he then pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and drew a little sad face on it. “-and he has to learn to live and survive in it. Lets say he spends roughly two years there, and then one piece of evidence comes to light, proving that he was, in fact, not guilty. Lets say he's lucky, and that he is then let out of jail.” Tim then swept the packet up, all coffee stained and mangled, scratched out the sad face, and tried to make it into a happy face. The effect didn't really work, and just made it look even more pathetic and confused. Tim placed it back into the little cup of sweeteners, but the thing had been so disfigured that it stuck out like a sore thumb.

“It's only been two years, but that's two years of his life he'll never get back. His loved ones are happy to have him-” Jason noted that thankfully Tim didn't draw little happy faces on the other sweeteners “-but they've moved on with their lives, and now he has a stigma of having been in prison, so it's difficult for him to get a job.” 

To illustrate his point more (which Tim obviously deemed necessary) he dumped out the whole cup of sweeteners, and organized them into little piles, then made the sad little sweetener try and visit the various piles, only to be turned away at every turn, bouncing back and forth like some strange pinball machine.

“Most people don't want to hire an ex-con, and not many want to rent a place to him either. Most of those doors that were open to him, are closed, but that isn't the only problem.” Tim held up the packet again, showing the smiley face he'd attempted to draw on it, but which hadn't been able to override the previous sad face. He put it in his palm, and bounced it up and down. 

“Now he's got a violent little voice on his shoulder that helped him survive in jail. It's a part of him now.” Tim then unceremoniously dumped it onto the table again, the mockery of a face angled up to the ceiling, and with his hand Tim spread the other organized packets of sweeteners farther away from it.

“He feels alone, like the world's out to get him. What does he do? He had a bright future before, but nothing is clear anymore. In a perfect world, he'd get a nice job, maybe sue the district attorney for wrongful conviction, get the counseling he needs, and maybe after years of freedom, that little voice would get quieter and quieter.” Tim simulated the mangled little sweetener being accepted into one of the groups.

“But we don't live in a perfect world.” He then plucked it back out of the group, but he took a second one with him. “Let's say, he does something foolish, gets caught stealing.” Tim held the sad packet of sweetener in two fingers, and in the other hand, held up the second one, which was indistinguishable from all the others. He simulated them having a conversation, and then the normal one running away while the mangled one gave chase.

“In the eyes of the law, it's a separate crime, but is it really?” Tim then, perhaps for fun, kept the chase going on for a while more, adding some high and low pitched conversation for added effect. “'No, save me!' 'I just need to pay rent lady! Hand over the goods!'” Tim actually looked like he was enjoying himself a little, but then looked up at Jason (who was not), cleared his throat, and put down both sweetener packets.

“Anyway. He wasn't guilty the first time, and what happened in prison directly influenced any subsequent crimes. Is it his fault? Is it the system?” Tim asked, and he sounded so much like a teacher that it was sickening, and made a small angry part of Jason want to break things.

“It's his fault,” Jason said without any remorse. “No matter what, he made the choice to do something he knew was wrong.”

“You might be right,” Tim admitted, picking up most of the sweetener packets, and putting them back into the little cup. He left the one that he'd tormented on the table. “But the fact of the matter is that if the first trial had been fair, or even if he'd been given support after he was let out of prison, he might never have performed the second crime. Bruce and I often disagreed on this. He thought that people were generally bad, so they need to be rewarded for being good, but I believe people are generally good, and that if given the chance, most want to be. Desperation makes more criminals than anything else. Regardless of my personal feelings, our justice system doesn't believe in rehabilitation, it believes in punishment,-”

“Says a guy who punches criminals decked out in tights.”

Tim held up a finger, and when Jason stopped, he went on,“-punishment doesn't clean up streets. It makes victims feel like they've been avenged, throws away people that might need actual help, and encourages a negative cycle, which forces more people into crime and creates more victims. Batman worked years on Gotham's streets, and what have we got to show for it? More criminals. Only a rare few can really come out of that sort of system without being consumed by it in some way.” Tim pulled the spoon out of his coffee, and downed the rest of it. He motioned for the waitress to come over, and give him a refill. She looked at him balefully as she did it, and raised an eyebrow at the little packet of sweetener, but said nothing as she walked away.

Tim turned back to him. “As a child, you were a thief, but that was because you didn't have any other options. Once Bruce gave you one, you strove to better yourself, and you worked hard to do it.”

Jason grit his teeth. “I'm not some sob story you can trot out to make a fucking point.”

Tim's face scrunched up for a half a beat, then it was back to impartial teacher Tim. “You're right, but from what I can see, you're standing on the edge of a cliff. We both know you've been more liberal with that trigger finger than I want, but if I put you in jail without first trying to get you the help you need, I'm not actually solving the problem. In a way, I'm punishing you, for something that wasn't entirely your fault, and I don't want to do that.” Tim took another drink of his coffee.

“Babs is more lenient on you, because she believes it's necessary at times to use deadly force. I don't. By killing, you're not only sullying your own hands, you're running the risk of one of the people on the end of your gun being that innocent man.”

“I don't shoot innocent people.” Jason scowled over at Tim, but his face was like a wall that Jason couldn't break down or climb.

“We're not judge, jury, and executioner. Everyone deserves a fair trial under the law, but in your case, you'll never get one unless we tell everyone that you were Robin, and that you were tortured for 16 months by the Joker. We're not going to do that, unless we have to. I believe your past is a highly mitigating factor that must be considered. With that being said, you're good at what you do, and we can always use the help. Babs and I feel the same way, we'd like to have you work with us, to try and give you that steady foundation I think you still need, but I have to be able to rely on you Jason. I don't want to worry that you're going do something drastic every time I turn my back.”

And there it was, the 'join us or else' portion of the conversation. Just what he'd been wanting to avoid. At least he would get it all out, and Tim would realize this was a horrible waste of his time. “How 'nice' of you,” Jason said, his tone sickly sweet. “I hate to burst your bubble, but it doesn't always work that way.”

“What do you mean?” Once again, Tim did not raise to the challenge in Jason's tone.

“I mean, you need to get this bullshit out of your head. You can't 'rely on me', because I don't fit in your pretty little social experiment here.” Jason flicked the sweetener packet.

“Sure, let's assume that Sweety Todd even wants to be 'friends' with you.” Jason picked up two sweetener packets from the cup, and put them next to the one that had been tormented. “That doesn't change the facts.” He then picked up the mangled one and unceremoniously dumped it in Tim's half full cup of coffee.

“Sometimes, he loses myself. His lizard brain thinks it's still stuck down there.” Jason picked up the spoon, put it back into the coffee, and twirled it around a few times. As the packet started to sink, Jason pushed it down with the spoon, until neither of them could see it at all. One bubble escaped. Then unceremoniously, he tipped the spoon to the side with enough force to push the cup over, spilling it all over the table and the two unsuspecting packets.

“And when he gets lost like that, things get messy. He can't help it, but it does make this whole 'support system' bullshit meaningless. If he can't even trust himself, he can't trust anyone else.” Jason didn't dare look up at Tim, just fished out the unrecognizable packet of sweetener with the spoon. It was now a sad clumped mess, and the other two were soggy and stained. 

Tim didn't say anything as the waitress swept in, and wiped up the mess, taking the three stained packets away in her dishrag. She then hurried to get a new pot started to refill Tim's cup. When she was gone, Tim spoke.

“Does this happen often?” The waitress came back, filled the coffee up again, and was off. Tim didn't touch it.

“No, but it happens.”

Tim hummed for a few seconds in thought, before answering.

“We can work on that.”

“What?” Jason dared to look at Tim. What he saw was a calm, almost happy look on Tim's face. It felt like a mirage, that if he actually tried to reach for it, it would disappear.

“We can try meditation, or different kinds of therapies. From what you said, you've already come up with coping mechanisms that work most of the time. We'll just need to find other ways of giving you more control over it, or keep you out of situations where it could happen.”

“I don't think it'll help.” Jason answered, completely taken back by the response he was getting. He tried not to show it, but the answer was apathetic at best, and lacked any bite.

Tim was not dissuaded. “Then there's no harm in trying. If it doesn't help, you've lost nothing.”

The silence that stretched between them was heavy, and Jason wasn't even sure how to process it. The, “I'll think about it,” that he tossed at Tim was more of a placating gesture then anything else, but he promised himself, quietly, that he would consider it, when he was on his own and not under duress.

“Thank you for telling me.” Tim said softly. “It sounds difficult to talk about.”

“Hypotheticals.” Jason stated, waving his hand dismissively.

“Purely hypothetical,” Tim agreed, with that same canary that had tricked the cat smile on his face. It was quickly becoming one of Jason's least favorite expressions. Tim took another large drink of his coffee, but the look stayed on his face. 

“So you're obviously still teaching,” Jason said, giving Tim a squinted look. He couldn't think of much else to say, and that was as a good topic change as anything.

“I like it. Being Tim Drake, nerdy science teacher, is nice. I get to show off cool experiments and embarrass them whenever I want. And if I do say so, I make a great shoulder to cry on.” The waitress made her way over with a new cup of coffee, and Tim took another drink. “Have you thought about it?”

“What, crying on your shoulder?” The look Jason gave Tim was withering. “Never.”

Tim rolled his eyes dramatically. “Going back to school. Babs tells me you were quite the avid student. 'A natural overachiever and smart as a whip,' were her exact words.”

Jason kept his eyes on the napkin beside him, the knife and fork that were on top of it. They glistened in the sunshine that filtered in from the large windows. The place felt so open, like he could see out of it for miles.

“No,” he lied.

“Don't want to?” Tim asked, his face carefully neutral. Jason wondered what he would find if he peeled that blank layer off of Tim's face.

“I don't need it.” Jason shrugged, like it was no big deal. Like this was a stupid conversation. He wondered if Tim could tell that this line of talk had the potential to hurt worse than the other. 

Jason had been preparing for the 'don't kill' talk for weeks, and had been expecting it to go a certain way. It hadn't, and he was cautiously cynical about how well Tim's idea of a 'foundation' would go. This line of conversation, he had no precedent for, and it bordered dangerously on a lot of issues Jason wasn't ready to talk about.

“Okay,” Tim said, unnervingly even. Jason had the impression he wasn't buying it. “If you change your mind, I'm a good tutor, and I know a few professors at Gotham U that would be happy to have you sit in on some classes. Online courses are an option too. If you ever want to, it's doable.”

“I don't need career advice, Tim. I'm not one of your students.”

Tim didn't even seem phased by the anger in his voice. “Being a vigilante isn't a lifetime thing. Babs is afraid that I'm going to sink my whole life into it, but I love being a teacher. It's still helping people, but with less punching. You're smart, dedicated-”

“And legally dead. You forgot that one.”

“We can fix that,” Tim answered without a beat, then paused, “if it's what you want.”

“What is it with you and trying to goad me into making some 'life goal'? What makes you think I haven't?” Which Jason only realized was a fucking stupid thing to say after it was out of his mouth.

“Have you?” Tim asked, genuinely interested.

“That isn't any of your business.” Which sounded a lot like a dismissal, because it was. It hadn't sounded as obvious in his head, which was the sad part.

Tim took a drink of his coffee, and went on. “Point is, you've lost time that you can't get back. It's gone, but that doesn't mean your opportunities are. If you want or need help, we'll be here. Whatever you need. Babs and I, we want to help get you on your feet as much as we can, but we're also a pair of nettling control freaks, so it's always hard to define boundaries. Figuring out when to push harder and when to back off isn't easy. We're going to make mistakes, and you'll have to tell us when we do, but we still want to help.”

“What if I don't need your help?” Jason bit out.

Tim, remained unphased. “We'd still like to be part of your life.”

Jason coughed, and hid half his face behind his hand. “And I thought Dick was the mushy one.”

Tim laughed, and downed the rest of his coffee. This time, he set it on the edge of the table, so that the waitress would see it. “As bad as this whole thing was, there's always going to be ways for us to fall short, or missed opportunities. I'd rather this not be one of them. Bruce's death fractured us. I'd like for us to start trying to heal those wounds, if you're willing.”

Instead of filling Tim's coffee cup again, the waitress returned with two to-go boxes, already in a bag.

Jason watched her intently as she walked away to go attend to a different table. She didn't look like she'd be returning to fill Tim's cup again. 

“Yeah, sure. Blah blah feelings, blah blah silver linings, blah blah, we can try.” Jason didn't look over at Tim after that statement, but he could practically feel Tim smiling at him, and well. Yeah, that wasn't the worst way that could have gone.

-

The CAT scan came with mixed results. 

The antidote had worked, so the virus wasn't spreading, but the damage that had been done was already pretty bad, so the hospital wanted to keep Dick a few more days for observation. Barbara had power of attorney, and agreed without a second thought. 

They said that it was likely he'd lose some motor function, and need physical therapy once he woke up, but that they were sure he would. The severity of all that would depend on how long the coma lasted, but they were optimistic. Dick was already scoring moderately well on his GCS, which was another good sign.

Jason learned all of this later, while he and Tim were out in Barb's little Subaru, heading back to the clock tower. He'd been there with Barb and Tim for the CAT scan, and the doctor's briefing, and had been stunned speechless when Barb had called him her brother when the doctor had asked him to leave, but almost everything else had gone in one ear and out the other. 

He'd been too wound up about being in the hospital, and the conversations he'd had with Tim and Barb to catch much of what had been said. It made him feel like a moron, and he couldn't help being angry about it. Tim didn't seem to think it was an issue.

It all sounded good when Tim said it, calmly and rationally, but Jason couldn't help expecting that something would go wrong. 

When Barb called him two days later to tell him that Dick had woken up, Jason was anxious and twitchy about the whole thing. In those two days, he'd done his own research, and called Leslie a few times to get her opinion on what the outcome might actually be. Usually that sort of thing helped ease his nerves, knowing the particulars of a situation and over planning were key bat strategies, but it didn't help much in this case.

When Jason walked into that hospital, he expected weight loss, bed sores, and for Dick to be more 'aware' then 'awake'. All three of those things were there, but the minute Dick looked over at him, and gave him an almost goofy smile, Jason realized that it was probably going to be okay. Sure, there'd probably be complications for a while, but if he knew Barb, she'd get him to a serious physical therapist, and he'd recover fast.

Not even the fact that Jason was in a hospital seemed to phase him that day.

-

Once Dick was properly awake, which took a couple more days, the hospital wanted to keep him for a few more days, which quickly turned into a week. 

Where as his range of motion was coming back fast, his arms were still a wreck, his leg was still on the mend, his fine motor skills were giving him trouble, and within the first 24 hours of him being awake the nurses had been completely flabbergasted with the amount of injuries he had, not to mention they'd located what looked like a -badly- sutured bullet hole on his right thigh that they had a hard time dating. Dick didn't remember it at all, but the fact that he whined about it meant that it probably wasn't that serious. 

The hardest part of the whole thing for Dick, ironically, was talking. That innate chatter and banter that had so defined him came out as incomprehensible babble. The doctors called it a moderate case of dysarthria and assured them it would clear up with speech therapy. Jason could tell that Dick didn't think it would happen soon enough.

Dick made steady progress over the next couple days, just like the doctors said, but seemed frustrated and embarrassed about the whole thing. What progress he did make, he used mostly with the nurses, and not his family, though Jason had a suspicion he 'talked' to Barb.

Perhaps the most annoying part of it all, for Jason, was that Dick's memory was shoddy at best. He could easily forget you'd walked in the room five minutes ago, and almost two weeks of memories were simply gone. He'd been genuinely surprised when he learned the date, but that had quickly turned into rueful and unhappy, which meant that a lot of the questions that they still had, couldn't be answered. 

Most of the things Jason wanted to apologize for – choking Dick out, threatening him at gunpoint, pistol whipping him, hurling the most hurtful words he could thinks of at him, and then outright ignoring what genuine attempts Dick had made to reconnect with him – were suddenly irrelevant. 

It also meant that almost every time Jason walked into a room, Dick was downright giddy to see him. He knew something had happened, but he didn't seem concerned with the particulars about why Jason was suddenly more of a fixture in his life. It was easier to just let that sit, even if it made Jason feel like a coward. That coupled with Dick's inability to keep certain things in his head for more than five minutes made for an irritating combination, but his recall was getting better. The doctors thought it would continue to improve with time, especially since he was doing rather well in most other areas of recovery.

All in all, for as serious as the brain damage had seemed, the doctors were pretty optimistic about a full recovery as long as Dick took it easy, and kept up with the therapies he needed. They were looking at a long recovery time, but everyone but Dick thought that would be better in the long run. Bludhaven would just have to deal with occasional stopovers from Robin and the Red Hood for a couple months.

That being said, they also wanted to run more tests, check his head a few more times, and keep him under observation. With Leslie's advice, Barb was inclined to let them. They also wanted a full body x-ray, to see if they could find anymore stray bullets, but Barb wisely declined that one. 

Him staying at the hospital longer also meant that someone didn't have to keep an eye on him 24/7 at Tim and Barb's house. 

When Alfred had been around, that wouldn't have been a problem, but these days, it was more of an issue. Keeping him in the hospital wasn't cheap, but it was sadly a lot easier. Dick wasn't exactly happy with that, because he could get away with less at a hospital with nurses who looked after him religiously, but it was probably for the best. The last thing they needed, was for him to be sneaking out as Nightwing before he was fully healed. 

The compromise was that they all started visiting him in shifts. Barb got mornings, Jason early afternoon, and then Tim stopped by after work. 

During Jason's shift, Dick tended to sleep a lot. His natural sleeping patterns typically kept him up all night, so it wasn't a surprise that was when he felt the least inclined to sleep. He was usually tired when Barb showed up, but by the time Jason took over, he was usually down for the count. 

Jason didn't mind. It was easier that way. A few times, when Gotham was relatively quiet, Robin or the Red Hood would stop in to check on him, and find him awake and doing sit up or push ups in his room. 

The night nurses hated him. Even his natural charm wasn't enough to dissuade their annoyance at constantly having to keep him from exercising, and badgering him to sleep at normal hours.

All in all, it could have been a lot worse.

-

When Jason showed up on the fourth day of Dick being properly awake, Dick was waiting for him, and much more alert than he usually was during the day. Jason eyed him almost warily, ran his fingers across the cover of the book he'd brought with him, and rustled the lilac fragrance sticks he'd smuggled in the room the other day. Jason couldn't tell if it was Dick or the nurses that kept getting rid of them, but he didn't care, he would replace them as many times as he had to. They wouldn't let him smoke, so he needed at least that.

“You're up early,” Jason said, taking a seat in one of the uncomfortable visitors chairs. He wasn't excited at the possibility of having a completely one sided conversation with Dick. It was easier to talk at him when he was asleep.

Dick nodded, and smiled. He pulled up his hands, and one by one, bent and moved all of his fingers. It was something he'd been struggling with, so it was nice to see actual progress. “You'll be throwing little sticks again in no time.”

The frown that comment got out of Dick was good natured, and he pointed at the fragrance sticks, and mimed chucking them out the window like a football. Jason shrugged. It wasn't his fault if Dick couldn't see the merits of the calming scent of fresh lavender. “I'll just bring more. This place stinks to high hell without them.” Dick's face scrunched up into playful annoyance, but it slid off of him just as quickly.

“Do you want me to read to you?” Jason asked, when the silence between them stretched on. He wasn't really sure what else he should do. Visiting his brother in the hospital when he was asleep or in a coma, was one thing, it was a completely different matter when he was obligated to actually talk to him. Especially when Jason still felt guilty about violently snuffing out Dick's previous attempts to mend things between them, but he couldn't bring that up because Dick didn't remember it, and if Jason explained it any sane person would toss him out the window, and it was a wonder Dick hadn't harassed him for answers already. Why did his brain have to make already complicated situations even more complicated?

Dick didn't answer. He bit his lip, and shook his head no. Then he angled Jason with a hard look, and started trying to talk. When whatever it was came out completely ineligible, his good mood seemed to sour, before he started moving his hands.

Sign language, Jason realized a few moments too late to understand what Dick had said.

“One more time, Dick.” Jason said.

Instead of doing as instructed, Dick glared down at his hands as if they'd betrayed him. “You didn't do it wrong. I was slow on the uptake.”

A soft “Oh,” graced Dick's lips, before he started moving his hands again. It was slow, and clunky, but the general gestures were there, and not too difficult to understand.

“ _Do you want me to stay?_ ”

“Stay?” Jason asked. “Stay where?”

The crestfallen look that came over Dick's face was genuinely upsetting, and without another sound, he laid back down, rolled over, and thumped the pillow over his head. It took several bouts of poking, and Dick swatting his hand away, to get Dick to pull his head out from under the pillow to look at him furtively.

“C'mon Dick. I'm not a mind reader. What do you mean?”

Dick considered the question for a few moments, before sitting up again, and signing out a response.

“ _I thought I remembered. It's frustrating._ ”

Jason understood that. Even after his escape, long stretches of his captivity were completely blank. At times, it was hard to think he'd spent over a year in that little room under Arkham, but the calendar didn't lie. 

There was a small part of him happy to have forgotten, but for the most part, he hated it. Hated not knowing everything that had happened, hated that he just couldn't remember, or that a trigger could be waiting around the corner for him, and he might not even know until it hit. Jason's mind had always been his sharpest weapon, and in that instance, it was dull and useless. He hated feeling like his own head was betraying him, withholding things he needed to know. 

“What do you remember?”

“ _Wind. Not flying. I was cold, you were warm. I was holding onto you. You asked me to stay. I was happy. That's all._ ” Dick scrunched up his face, and then looked over at Jason. “Are you blushing?”

“No!” Jason barked. “And I didn't ask you to stay, I told you. And before you go getting ideas in that bird brain of yours, you were drugged to the gills and mostly brain dead. It would be my luck that out of that whole ordeal, you'd remember the one most embarrassing thing I said.”

Dick was laughing at him, the sound fluttering out his lips like crystal. It was a good sound. He had a good laugh at Jason's expense, before pulling his hands up to sign some more. “ _Do you?_ ”

Jason glared. “Do I what?”

“ _Want me to stay._ ”

Jason wished Dick was asleep, so he could have skipped this whole embarrassing conversation. “I dunno. What do you have in mind?”

Dick shrugged. “ _Can't leave Blud, but I'll visit. Movie nights and take-out every couple weeks?_ ”

“No take-out, and only if Barb and Tim are invited too.”

The smile that spread over Dick's face was so genuine, a memory of happier times, when things hadn't been so- messed up. The feeling that fluttered in Jason's chest was definitely hope, and for once, it wasn't over shadowed by hurt and pain.

“ _Are you going to cook for me?_ ”

Jason pointed at him. “Don't push your luck Dickster.”

If the smile on his older brother's face was anything to go by, he was going to do exactly that. It wouldn't be the worst way to start over.


End file.
